


Stumbling On the Road So Far: The Prequel (Seasons 1-3)

by MockingJayToBeA



Series: Stumbling On the Road So Far [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Follows show plot, M/M, episode by episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 124,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MockingJayToBeA/pseuds/MockingJayToBeA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road to nowhere always leads me back home to you...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Axiomatic (Pilot - 01x01)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fumbling in the Dark: Love Advice For the Romantically Impaired](https://archiveofourown.org/works/181789) by [leonidaslion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion). 



> The Prequel to Stumbling On the Road So Far: The Angel Chronicles. The backstory behind Sam and Dean. Follows from episode to episode, tracing Dean and Sam's relationship as it becomes more and more complicated. Very close to canon, but with additional scenes/surprises. Starts in season 1 and will be continued through Season 3. The rest is in the next work of the series. Inspired by "Fumbling in the Dark: Love Advice for the Romantically Impaired" (which unfortunately ended at Season 5).

It wasn't until after Jess flicked the lights on that Sam even noticed they had been off. It was axiomatic they didn't need light to see each other, they'd had more conversations, _more fights, more training,_ in the dark than in daylight. If she hadn't had walked in, Sam would have had his entire conversation with Dean in the dark. It didn't matter anyways, Sam knew every expression, every muscle that would twitch across his brother's face as he spoke, _I was looking for a beer_ , and frankly, he didn't want to have to face him in the light, that would make him real and very unavoidable. 

But the lights came on and both brothers turned to look, caught off guard (that was rare) by the shock of actually talking to each other. But neither let their surprise (or annoyance) flicker across their faces for more than a second, both were much too good at guarding their inner thoughts. 

"Hey," Sam greeted Jess, turning back to face Dean. Dean was careful not to look at Sam, instead staring flirtily at Jess. "This is my girlfriend Jessica."

Sam studied Dean's face, but his expression was masked with his default womanizer mode. He looked different though, changed from how he had been before. That dull fire in his eyes was gone, replaced with more walls and barriers. His hair was styled differently too, and his shoulders didn't stand as proud as they used to, although they were a bit more aggressive. 

"I need to borrow your boyfriend for a moment," Classic Dean, talking to Jess instead of him, calling him "the boyfriend," any little phrase he could use against Sam. It felt like the words were a joke, or some sort of mockery. Like the idea of Sam in a committed relationship was just a joke to Dean. There was no way he was going to let Dean have this go his way.

"No. No, whatever you wanna say, you can say it in front of her." 

Once Sam stepped away from Dean, he could feel a physical change of temperature in the room, the heat between them, _You can't leave me here alone with Dad_ , becoming less intense. But now that Dean was speaking again, Sam saw a new expression on his face, one Sam didn't recognize. Sam thought he knew every twitch of smile and squint of eyes, but he had no idea where to start with this one. It wasn't something Sam had ever seen before on Dean, and honestly, it kind of scared him. His lips were pouting but tight and his eyes were restless, and his head was pushed back, as though he was majorly avoiding something. He looked almost scared, and maybe even vulnerable. 

That was probably a lot of the reason why Sam agreed to go. He couldn't stand how lost his brother looked, like something had broken inside him while Sam was gone. But for some reason, Sam didn't think it had much to do with Dad being missing. No, this was deeper than that. This was deeper than anything had ever hurt Dean before. But what in the world could have caused it?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sliding into shotgun next to Dean went to Sam's head with a strange whooshing feeling. It was like everything in his world flew back four years, and he was just eighteen again, a few tests away from outta this town and a few fights away from losing his family. But Sam had been on top of the world at the time, no idea that in just a few months his brother would be wrenched away from him.

And it had been Heaven, then, sitting shotgun to his charming older brother. Dean had been as young then as Sam is now, his eyes bright with a fire that meant he could take on the world. Turning to look at Dean now, like this, it was almost like a replica of his brother. Not quite the same, but still with the exact movements and words and expressions Sam knew so well. Well, besides the one he couldn't figure out. 

They rode in a silence that was neither comfortable nor awkward, just different. Dean was a little stiff, and Sam felt a little out of place. Or maybe too _in_ place. He walked everywhere at Stanford because any car he got in felt too small, too rounded, too plastic. But now that the metal frames and leather seats surrounded him, Sam's long legs slid right in, the only car that was big enough for them. Dean still drove the same, fairly reckless with the occasional eye on Sam, but never doing anything dangerous enough to put Sam's life in danger. 

Sam looked out the window and snorted, at how even after four years apart, two without any communication whatsoever, Dean's mind still had the one-track road of "protect Sam." Sam had been long past protecting for a while now, he wasn't the same little kid that used to cling to Dean every time the lights went out. 

"What?" Dean asked from the driver's seat, and Sam turned his head back to see Dean staring at him expectantly. Who knows for how long. Sam always wondered how Dean managed to keep the car in his lane and look at Sam at the same time. Part of him secretly thought the Impala had a mind of its own and kept them in the lane without any help from Dean. Or well, Sam used to think that. When he was little. Now he didn't think much of anything about the Impala.

"Nothing. You just haven't changed a bit." Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, then turned back to the road. There was silence for a few beats before Dean responded, staring straight ahead and leaving Sam to just analyze his profile.

"You have. And you still need a haircut." No elaboration, no continuing, just the punch line that Dean fell back on when he was trying to hide something. Sam just turned back to the window, ignoring Dean's habit of joking when he was uncomfortable. It was something Sam had ignored and put up with for years, and that might as well not change. 

They didn't say much else, and Sam wasn't sure if it was because they didn't need to, or if the silence was just so loud it did enough speaking for the both of them. This was either really right or really wrong, and Sam didn't like the idea of feeling like he belonged here. Because he didn't, not anymore.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The second they both leaped off the edge of the bridge, Sam never even considered that Dean wouldn't land on a beam and pull himself back up. That was just...what you did when you jumped off bridges. Not that Sam had ever jumped off a bridge before now, but he'd observed enough bridges on car trips to know where the metal beams crossed. Someone, however, didn't.

The first thing Sam did, not exactly trying to, but hey old habits die hard, was look for Dean. Sam whipped his head around, then dared looking down. _Shit_ , there were ripples in the water. The word got yanked from Sam's throat before he could even think about it, just an instant reaction.

"DEAN!!" Sam's heart nearly stopped. What if Dean was...what if only hours after Sam had seen him again, how could Sam ever...oh god, no, please, no--

Then Dean's head emerged from the water and he started swim-dragging himself to shore. Sam threw back his head, a breath of disbelief and overwhelmed laughter escaping his mouth. Dean was okay, he just. God, the idiot. And Sam had nearly just had a heart attack. Because his brother was a moron. 

The relief flooding through Sam's veins was immense and powerful, but it wasn't until Sam saw Dean fully back on two feet walking towards him that he even realized how relieved he was. How terrified he had been for that split second. Sam had entirely and completely forgotten how much he cared about his brother. And he was reminded in the most brutal way possible. And so yeah, maybe it made Sam close up with a twinge of fear, a twinge of what used to be haunting him.

It was one of the reasons he'd gotten out. He'd never said it out loud, even to himself, but it fucked with his head. He hated watching Dean get pinned by monsters, arrested by cops, held at gunpoint by hunters John had pissed off. Sam couldn't take it. He couldn't take all the danger Dean was in all the time, and he thought that if he didn't have to witness the near-death experiences every week, he might be okay. If he was away at Stanford, it'd be easier - even though Dean was always still in danger - because Sam didn't have to see it.

It wasn't.

For the first couple of years, he'd lie awake at night, fretting over _maybe Dean almost died today and I wasn't there in his final moments_ a hundred times. With the help of the beautiful distraction of Jessica Moore, Sam grew out of it eventually. He wondered about Dean still, sometimes in the dead of night when his walls were down and the moon was out and his heart was weak, but for the most part he'd detached himself enough to be safe.

Sam couldn't risk losing his shit over Dean, because if Sam got attached? There was no way he'd be able to tell Dean goodbye again after this hunt was over. No, Sam needed to keep his distance. He'd apologize, sure, but he wasn't going to push it. Not when there was a chance the guilt would take over and Sam wouldn't be able to climb out of shotgun and back into his normal life. 

The normal life he'd been craving his entire existence and finally got a chance at with Jessica. Sam couldn't give that up. He'd never forgive himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean had only driven about two minutes of silence before he turned around. It had started the moment Sam had said goodbye again, watched Dean as he pulled away, declining his offer of _one hell of a team back there._ Sam said he'd maybe catch up with Dean after the interview, but they both knew it was a lie. It was goodbye, and so Dean wrote off the pit in his stomach to that. 

But as it seized to fade after a few minutes, Dean began to worry. The pit was getting more intense, and felt more like a jolt of pain now. But it didn't feel like heartbreak, Dean absolutely knew what that felt like. This was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He'd felt it once before but-

Then Dean remembered. It was one of his earliest memories, back to a long long time ago. He'd been put to bed, but woke up when his stomach started hurting. He was four at the time. He remembered getting up and crawling out of his bed, padding to the door with the destination in mind of telling mommy his tummy hurt. Then he heard his dad shout, and Dean knew, just _knew_ it was more than that. So he ran out of his room as fast as his legs could carry him, knowing instantly to run to Sammy's room. His Dad met him at the door, _Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Now, Dean, go!_

That's exactly what this feeling felt like. That same sharp pain in his gut. Dean instantly flipped a U-turn, screeching the Impala around in a 360, pulling into the other lane and stomping on the gas. The tires skid for just a moment before catching and jolting Dean back to Sam's apartment. He pulled into the parking lot about forty seconds later, jumping out of the car and sprinting up the stairs. 

He considered knocking first for the principle of it, just in case this feeling was wrong, but when he reached the door Dean just used his running momentum to lift his foot up and kick it open. He looked around quickly, shouting instantly.

"Sam!" Dean ran towards a random door, knowing Sam would be behind it. Dean could smell the fire and see the glow of the flames from here. He skidded to a stop in front of the open doorway, seeing Sam lying on the bed, his hands up to shield his face, shouting Jessica's name.

"Sam! SAM!!" Dean looked up to see Sam's girlfriend in flames on the ceiling.

"No! No!" Sam was shouting, looking helplessly up at Jessica. Dean rushed forward, his eyes only on Sam now. Dean grabbed him, two hands to the front of Sam's jacket. He hauled him up, ignoring how much heavier Sam was now than the last time Dean did this. Sam was screaming in protest, but wrapped his arms around Dean as Dean swung their bodies around and headed for the door. Sam was staring at Jess disappearing behind them, still screaming.

"Jess! No!" Sam grabbed onto Dean's arm with his words, and Dean wasn't sure if it was to stop Dean or to grab ahold of him tighter. But Dean lead them out of the room, pulling Sam from the second disastrous fire of his life. He dragged Sam out of the apartment and into the street as a huge fireball exploded behind them. Sam was sobbing and screaming still, but Dean didn't let go. He would never let go.

"Sam, I got you. I got you, you're gonna be okay. I'm here, Sam. I got you, brother."

 

An Episode by Episode Fic by [FlyByNightGirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flybynightgirl) .::. [Stumbling Blog](http://flybynightgirl.tumblr.com) .::. [All art and videos](http://flybynightgirl.tumblr.com/artmasterpost)

.::. [Comprehensive Chapter Index](http://flybynightgirl.tumblr.com/compendium) .::.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a tumblr blog where you can follow and get the updates of Stumbling on your dashboards, as well as videos and gifs and pictures and edits and yay! xx
> 
> http://flybynightgirl.tumblr.com/


	2. Scabrous (Wendigo - 01x02)

"Since when are you all shoot first ask questions later?" Dean glanced over the hood of the car, looking at his uncharacteristically-eager brother curiously. He was still trying to be vaguely careful around Sam. Okay, more than vaguely. Sam's girl had _died_ , like their mom. Burnt up on the ceiling, a haunting enough image to get anyone for a lifetime. So Dean was walking on eggshells, carefully observant through the nightmares and the pained looks and the watering eyes. Sam was bound to snap basically any second, he just...hadn't yet. 

Sam just met his gaze over the car, looking back at Dean with an intense level gaze and an expression Dean wasn't exactly familiar with. Which, when it came to Sam, was pretty rare. It was like he was evaluating Dean, but at the same time trying to keep his insides locked out of Dean's sight. Frustrating, to say the least. 

"Since now," came the most infuriatingly simple answer ever. Sam swooped into shotgun with a flick of a grin at the corner of his eyes and an unborn smile tugging on his lips. Dean stood still for a moment, still looking over the car at the Sam-shaped space. _Since now_. Little brother Sammy hand thrust gotten taller and older, he'd gotten bolder too. How did that Fleetwood Mac song go? Something about a mountain and faces. 

Dean looked off at nothing, chewing on the inside of his lip and doing his best not to smile. Smiling would be definite bad news. No, instead he was going to pretend that Sam's new attitude wasn't affecting him at all. Not one bit

It wasn't like this new, confident, independent Sam was giving Dean butterflies or anything. It was just....intriguing. Yes, that was the word. Not the thousand other thoughts bouncing through Dean's head. Sam was nothing more than just intriguing. 

And it'd probably wear off anyways, right? This new found inability for Dean to keep his eyes off his little brother. It was just the shock of having Sam back in shotgun and the new intriguing personality aspects Sam had developed while he was away. 

As much as Dean would like to think it hadn't, so much had changed in the past two years. Sam had changed. And Dean wasn't exactly sure how to handle that. 

Probably not by recontemplating his entire outlook on life over the hood of the Impala while impatient Sam drummed his fingers on the dash in shotgun and wondered what the hell was taking Dean so long. Yeah, they should go. 

~*~*~*~*~

Ben groaned as he pushed himself off the floor, looking up at the hole in the ceiling he'd fallen through. The taller of the two rangers was getting up too, asking Ben if he was alright. Ben nodded, then started in surprise as he saw a figure behind Sam. 

"Hailey!" Ben rushed forward, making sure his sister was alright. His reaction though, was quite a bit different from the two ranger's. He watched as Sam hustled over to his partner, saying Dean's name like it was the only word on earth. Dean woke almost instantly to the voice of the taller man, groaning in pain but still managing a sarcastic comment. Sam cut him down instantly, wrapping Dean's weight in his arms and holding onto him like he had died instead of just being scabrous. 

"Are you alright?" Sam practically gushed, running his hands along Dean's body, checking for injuries, and wincing when he saw the raw rope burns on his wrists.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Really, I'm good." Dean's words attempted to push Sam off, (although he made no physical gesture to do so) but Sam wasn't quick to leave Dean's side. Good thing too, considering Dean almost collapsed when he tried to take a step. Sam set him down on the ground, eyes casting worriedly over the arm Dean was cradling to his chest. 

"Really, I'm fine, Sam." Dean said, groaning as he shifted his weight. He flicked his eyes over to Hailey and Ben, and as though that was some sort of secret form of communication, Sam snapped out of his protective haze and climbed over to help Hailey. 

Ben was glad the rangers had come with them, they were really helpful, but he had a feeling they didn't see much else besides each other. Which was fair, he supposed. 

After all, if he had been in love with someone that had been tied up, he'd have been just that touchy-feely and panicked too. 


	3. Surreptitious (Dead in the Water - 01x03)

"I tell myself that every day." Sam cocked his head, looking curiously at Dean. Dean could practically feel Sam's questions rolling off him, but he didn't turn away from Lucas. Andrea looked over to Sam, watching him watch his brother. He looked as though someone was opening a door for him that had been locked for a hundred years.

It was odd to see Dean so open and comforting, embracing the little boy (figuratively of course - Dean doesn't hug people). Normally Dean's emotions were surreptitious, he hid them from everyone. Including Sam. Sometimes it felt like especially Sam, but Sam figured that wasn't actually the case. Dean told him a lot of things, probably more than anyone else ever knew about him. But still, it bugged Sam that there was still so much Dean never said. Like this thing about Mom, how come Dean never told him? Sam would have asked, but Dean never even said enough for Sam to form a question from.

Maybe, on their way to find Dad, Sam would be able to get Dean to open up like this. He would kill to know what was inside Dean's head, to know how he felt about things, and what he dreamed about at night to make him so fidgety and restless. Due to having the burning image of Jessica's death engrained in the back of his eyelids, Sam hardly got any sleep, which left a lot of time laying in bed and listening to Dean sleep. 

Sometimes he would murmur something unrecognizable, and the place between his eyebrows would crinkle, like how when he was really upset or really pissed off. It was just a hunch, but Sam figured it had something to do with that face that had been plaguing Sam since that first time he saw it in his apartment. That new look that Dean wore for that entire first hunt. 

It was like he was evaluating Sam or something, trying to figure out something, but Sam still hadn't been able to place exactly what. Dean was hiding something big, and Sam was absolutely determined to figure it out. But it would take time he knew, building up a trust with Dean that had been broken when he left for Stanford. So Sam wasn't really surprised when Dean blew him off in the car later.

"That thing about Mom, you never told me about that." Dean stared straight ahead, using the road as an excuse to not let Sam see his emotions. 

"It's not a big deal." Which clearly mean it was a big deal. Then another sarcastic comment - we're not going to have to hug or anything are we - and Sam knew it was a pointless battle. There was no use in talking about this or anything else important yet, Dean was still on guard.

But if there was one thing Sam was good at, it was research. So one way or another, Sam was going to figure this out.


	4. Pestilential (Phantom Traveler - 01x04)

_We the people...are we the people...or some kind of monster..._ Normal, safe, good lyrics, good song, good beat, nothing wrong here, just some kind of monster, he would be fin-

"Are you humming Metallica?"

"It calms me down." 

"Look man, I know you're nervous-" Um, hell yeah he was nervous, planes are freaking pestilential. How many people die on planes? Buddy Holly, J.P. Richardson and Ritchie Valens all died on planes. Lynyrd Skynyrd's Ronnie Van Zant and Stevie Gaines both died in a plane crash. If god was willing to smite out two awesome musicians with a plane, what the hell would stop him from smiting Dean too? Uh, nothing. Even if there wasn't a freak demon on this flight trying to take it down too. And he should be calm why?

After a little while, it was slightly less terrifying. Sam was a solid, safe warmth at his side that kept his mind clear and focused. The fear in Dean's gut was manageable so long as he kept that unruly, floppy hair in his peripherals. Sammy was here, and so damn confident. Dean could do this. Well, until the freaking plane had to decide to rock like a freaking hurricane had hit it.

"C'mon, that can't be normal!" He was actually going to die on this plane. When was the last time he'd had a Bacon Cheeseburger? It'd been too long, he'd definitely get one if he survived.

"Hey, hey, it's just a little turbulence." As calm and soothing as Sam's voice was, he was totally not acting worried enough. Besides, he looked like he was enjoying this way too much. It wasn't often Sam had to comfort Dean, and it was a really...odd...change. 

"Sam, this plane is going to crash, so quit treating me like I'm freaking four." Dean was not going to let Sam get away with trying to soothe him over, just sitting back all casually in his seat like they both weren't about to dive thousands of feet plummeting into the ground.

"You need to calm down." Again with that overly buddha-ish voice. This wasn't exactly a situation you could just "calm down" in, what part of ABOUT TO DIE does Sam not understand? All bit of comfort Dean had found in the warmth at his side had slipped the moment the plane shook and that warmth became extremely annoying. Dean snapped back a response, trying to justify and reason with Sam's stupidity and faith in aircraft.

"Yes you can." Sam's voice was still being really annoying calm, but his face was even worse. He looked like he was trying to pet Dean or something, like he was some wild mustang and Sam's job was to tame it.

"Dude, stop the touchy feely self help yoga crap that's not hel-"

Holy shit. Sam's face was right there. Like inches away. Dean's voice trailed off, suddenly not being quite able to form words. That was really unexpected and Sam had caught him in a very vulnerable spot and now he was all up in his grill and maybe Dean's heart was beating even faster now, but this fear was quite a bit different. But at the same time Sam's expression seemed to twist a way into Dean's gut, his worried and overly protective stupid soccer mom expression and how he was trying so hard to help Dean over his fear and okay, maybe the knots in his stomach seemed to ease up a bit. Dean looked away from Sam, glancing back for just a moment before looking away again and blowing out a shaky breath. He tried to slow his racing pulse, and not looking at the inches-away-Sam helped a bit.

Sam watched him slow his breathing, not scooting back out of Dean's personal bubble until Dean's demeanor had physically changed.

"Good." Sam said, and Dean just looked down, away from Sam, doing anything he could to calm his racing heart and mind.

He'd been so god damned _close_. Surely Sam must gave noticed the affect that had had on Dean. Was he thinking of it right now? As he sat with a little grin on his face? 

Screw Sam for using Dean's head against him like that. He'd just been so caught off guard. How else was Dean supposed to respond to his little brother sticking his big nose in Dean's face? Of course he got flustered. He just...Sam can't _know_ that. If Sam knew half the stuff in Dean's head...

He'd pack his bags and be out of here 900 times faster than he left for Stanford. 

Dean wasn't sure he could live through that. If Sam left again, after being back in Dean's life for less than month, Dean would -- he didn't even know. Didn't want to know. He couldn't thing about that. Not now, not ever.


	5. Aberrant (Bloody Mary - 01x05)

Charlie is suspicious the moment she sees them in the bathroom. _Agents,_ they claimed, but she knew better. There was no way two agents would sneak off and go do - whatever they were doing in that bathroom together. It was downright unprofessional, not to mention really disturbing. I mean, if you had to pick a bathroom to go off and make out with your partner, at least pick one where someone didn't die?

When she calls them later, and sits bawling her eyes out on a park bench, they are acting suspicious again. Although maybe this is how they always acted, fingertips and eyes running over each other every other moment. It was like, no matter what was happening, both of them only really were concerned about the other. The town was being haunted by the actual Bloody Mary, but neither really seemed that daunted by that. It was just hazel eyes watching green ones until green eyes turned to face him, and vice versa. Always looking when the other one wasn't.

In their apartment, the problem only seemed to emulsify. It was abnormal how much they looked to each other, pretty much aberrant actually. Sam was being fairly nice to her, trying to comfort her and let her think she wasn't going to die, but all the attention he was giving her was seeming to put Dean on edge. Or maybe it was something else about Sam that was putting Dean on edge, but whatever it was, it couldn't have been good.

"C'mon Sammy, this is me! Since when do you keep secrets from me?" She was still curled in a ball on the bed, but could quite clearly overhear the voices in the hallway. Dean had pulled Sam outside only a minute after she told them the story of her ex-boyfriend. Now they were fighting about something, which made the situation she was in seem ten times worse.

"I could say the same for you!" Charlie could hear the taller boy's frustration ringing clear through his voice.

"The hell are you talking about? I'm not keeping any secrets from you."

"Yeah right, Dean, I'm not that stupid."

"I really don't know what you're talking about. What secret are you talking about?"

"Just, the way you've been acting. You've changed, something's...off. Different."

"Well yeah, you've been gone two years, you think I'll be the same?"

"Is that what this is about? The fact that I left?"

"Sammy, you have no idea what you're talking about, I'd stop right there if I were you."

"Why Dean? Or what? What is it? God, you're so impossi-" Sam's voice faded into the distance as Charlie heard a car door slam. Dean must have left the apartment building and gotten into his car, leaving Sam to chase after him. There was _definitely_ something going on between those two.

Between the looks and the casual touches and the fighting and the possessive "you're hiding something from me" attitudes, there was no way they weren't together. Right?


	6. Tentative (Skin - 01x06)

They were probably about 70 miles down the road before Dean brought it up. He was considering not, but he also needed to know how fucked up this had gotten.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You said that the shapeshifter had been, like, downloading my thoughts. What all did it tell you?" Dean tried to keep his voice casual-curious, not freaking out like how he was inside. There were some thing Sam definitely did not need to know about Dean right now. And it would be just like the bastard shapeshifter to tell him.

"You know, just some angsty stuff about my friends and Dad and stuff. It said you were...jealous, that I could have a real life and you couldn't. Then just some stuff about me leaving for college."

Dean was fairly relaxed until the last couple of words. He had to make a conscious effort not to grip the steering wheel tight. His throat closed up momentarily, making him shut his eyes for just a moment to calm himself. After the couple of seconds it took for him to be in control again, Dean managed to get out a few more (hopefully not stressed-sounding) words.

"What about you leaving for college?" _Please don't let it be how I cried myself to sleep for two months, or how I went on that crazy violent rampage and killed an entire werewolf nest inside of three minutes, or how it was when I watched you drive into the distance that I finally realized how lost I was without you, or the year that I spent either in silence or screaming, or how I overheard Dad tell Bobby that it was like I lost the other half of my soul, please don't let it be how I realized that it wasn't my mind that was upset, that it was a broken heart I was suffering from. Please don't let it be any of that._

"Just that you felt like I had left you." Dean nodded tightly. That was exactly what it had felt like. Worse than any breakup he'd ever been through. But it wasn't for a while that Dean even realized how many emotions he had felt for Sam. He hadn't realized until it was too late, until his Sammy was gone. And that first day, that first time he saw Sam again, he was guarded and tentative. Testing Sam, trying to figure out how badly his heart was going to hurt this time around. Seeing if it really was heartbreak that had killed him while Sam was gone. He was doing everything he could not to let himself get all emotional about this. Not to let it get complicated. Deep down, Dean knew he was denying a shitload of stuff. But for now, denying was quite alright with him. Just so long as Sam didn't know everything that was going on.

"So you didn't get the run-down on Rhonda Hurley?" Dean teased. Sam looked at him with his half-smirk and shook his head. The college leaving thing was a little too close for comfort, but at least that problem had been sidestepped. It could have gone about forty thousand times worse.

Although sometimes Dean felt like Sam could see right though him. But not even Dean was sure how he felt, so how could Sam know before he even did? At least the shapeshifter hadn't tapped in deeper, that would've ended with a lot of questions on Sam's part. But they'd killed the son of a bitch before it could do even more damage. Just another time that all of Dean's problems could be solved with a gun. At least, that's what he liked to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a video about Dean from the Stanford-Era time period. Here is the link : http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Mnc8ki9nv7U


	7. Acerbity (Hook Man - 01x07)

Sam doesn't try to, it just keeps happening. It's like some gravitational pull and it's really difficult to stop or predict. He doesn't think about it much, not enough to worry himself, so he writes it off as no big deal. It's just becoming a bit more frequent. 

It started kind of gradually, the first time Sam actually noticing when they were in Ohio. Sam had been kneeling on the ground with glass shattering around him one moment, then suddenly Dean was inches away from him. Dean leaned into his space and cupped Sam's face in his hands, thumbing away some of the blood streaking down Sam's cheeks. He was close and overwhelming and the only thing Sam could see was his brother, worried and fretting and breathing on his face. 

"Sammy!" Dean said. He probably said other things too, but Sam wouldn't even have heard the Sammy if it didn't cut through the fog that was in his mind right then. He had this weird feeling in him, one Sam couldn't place even hours later with a bit of research. At the time, it annoyed him quite a bit, so he remembered snapping at Dean, saying something smart about not calling him Sammy. Although he hadn't corrected Dean since, because honestly, it was kind of nice.

Then it happened again, although this time was a little different. Sam had been roped to a pole in the sewer, having a conversation with the shapeshifter that was wearing Dean's face. Suddenly, the shapeshifter had flattened his palms onto Sam's upper thighs, leaning Dean's face close to Sam's. The shapeshifter was trying to make Sam uncomfortable, and the pulsing heart was a telltale sign it was working. The familiar hands that had smacked his arm or the back of his head a hundred times were now curling roughly into the material of his jeans. It made Aam heated and _pissed_. Sam wanted more than ever to destroy this creature, for using Dean's beauty to its advantage. How date he flaunt Dean's body and debonair and twist it into something evil, something touching Sam's body in a way that made him tight and uncomfortable. Sam remembered thinking that only briefly, through the haze of Dean's hands (not really Dean) on his legs. Then he remembered snapping back then, too. Anything to get out of the situation.

And now, as Sam makes his way over to the little cafe table, he's not thinking about it much. Sam doesn't need more to worry about, so he just kinda forgets about it. Hardly even notices it as it's happening.

"Your double cream vanilla latte is getting cold over here, Francis." Dean sneers, barely looking up from the laptop. Sam doesn't sit across from Dean, never does if he has the chance not to. They grew up sitting next to each other, and it was a habit Sam saw no reason to break. Except for restaurant booths, because that meant he could kick Dean for hitting on the waitress or stealing his food if he needed to. 

"Shut up," Sam said, without any acerbity. Sam sunk into his chair that he'd dragged around to Dean's side, looking over briefly at the laptop. Dean moved his hand, sliding the laptop screen over to Sam. 

Sam reached out his hand to help Dean scoot it, and his hand kind of slid off the laptop and landed on Dean's leg, just above his knee. Like a gravitational force just pulled it there. Sam flattened his hand on Dean's leg, casually keeping it resting there, although it landed by accident.

Dean either didn't notice or didn't care. And seeing how Dean's job consisted of noticing the faintest of footsteps hundreds of feet away or a couple of stories above them, Sam figured it was the latter. 

Then it happened again, although a little differently. Dean had parked the impala and was walking towards some frat boys working on a car. Sam cut a diagonal in front of the impala, on his way to resuming his position behind Dean.

"One more time, why are we here?" Sam had been looking behind them as he spoke, so he wasn't paying quite as much attention to his proximity to Dean as he should have. Which is how Sam suddenly was an inch away, his body angled in towards Dean, and his hand automatically coming up to touch Dean's lower back. Dean's familiar body warmth snapped Sam's head back to the current, which is how he managed to stop his hand from flattening to Dean's lower back a few seconds before it happened. He awkwardly halted his hand in mid air, his arm bent at the elbow and hand hovering over Dean's back. Dean kept walking, ignoring the temporary pause. Sam let Dean another few inches in front of him, (he really didn't know why he had gotten so close so quickly) and resumed his position behind Dean.

"The victim lived here." Sam nodded and followed Dean's lead. Refusing to ask his head why in the world he kept trying to touch Dean. 

The next time it happened they were at 9 Mile Road, and Dean was leaning into the trunk of the impala, getting out a gun. Sam was standing behind Dean, waiting for him to get Sam a gun too. Sam was used to standing behind Dean, it was their default hunting position, and neither thought about it. When they walked, Dean was always a few inches in front of Sam, still close enough to touch if one of them wanted to. Dean's shoulder would be kind of nested inside of Sam's, where the indent between his collarbone and shoulder was. It was like Dean was made to fit there, like if he were to back up an inch, his body would fit in front of Sam's like a puzzle piece. Sam let Dean always walk in front, never really thought about doing it differently.

So that's how Sam ended up behind Dean as Dean bent over. Sam was at his normal distance from Dean, literally two or three inches away. There was a clearing behind Sam, and he had all the room in the world, but he didn't need it. He subconsciously stayed this close because that's just what he did. And normally Sam could read Dean's every twitch and bend of muscle, so he could stay out of Dean's way while still staying close. Tonight though, Sam was thinking about the case, and listening to Dean's explanation for the rock salt canisters, so he missed the little ripple across Dean's shoulders that meant he was backing up. 

Dean's ass ran into Sam's hips, causing him to jerk back slightly. They were only touching for a moment or two, and Sam's little jerk would've gone unnoticed by any onlooker, it was so slight. Then Dean stood and kept talking, ignoring the touch and the flash of bewilderment across Sam's face. It wasn't a big deal, it just was another random touch. They were becoming more frequent though.

But despite the surprise that came with the realization that Sam was touching Dean almost all the time, it didn't really bother him. Too much. Dean touched him just as much, so it wasn't weird or anything. It was like they were slowly fading back into some old habits, and definitely creating some new ones. They really didn't make toho bad of a team, which is why Sam didn't hesitate before shaking his head no when Dean asked if he wanted to stay. Lori was sweet, but just another girl. Besides, Sam was pretty sure Dean had forgotten that mirrors work two ways, and he had seen Dean watching him talk to Lori in the rearview. And he'd seen the sigh, the defeated look as Dean tried to think of what was best for Sam. Sam appreciated the thought, he really did, but for now, Dean seemed to be the best thing for Sam. After they found Dad, things would change, but for now, this was all Sam had. And it was definitely good enough.


	8. Engulfing (Bugs - 01x08)

This was the most relaxed and healthy his muscles felt in a long time. The steam was engulfing him in the warm wetness and it felt freaking amazing. This was one of the many reasons why Dean preferred squatting to motel-life. That, and it was way cheaper, way cleaner, and it also meant he got to tease Sam by calling him a housewife. It doesn't get much better than clean, steam, free, and tease.

But Dean's lovely shower got interrupted by a banging on the door. Dean heard Sam's muffled voice over the sound of the water. He was probably bitching about how Dean was still in the shower an hour later. But hey, a man had to take advantage of everything he had.

"What?" Dean shouted back, running his hands through his hair, letting the water stream down his face and the steam seep against his close eyes.

"Dean a police call came in on the scanner." Well damn. That sucked. This shower was just too much fun.

"Hold on!" Dean shouted. He stepped out of the water regrettably and grabbed a towel. But he kept the steam rolling because there was no way he was gonna let his uptight brother leave this place without trying this shit out. If anything was gonna relax Sam, this was it. And with this uptight demeanor Sam _still_ hasn't let go of yet, lord knows he needed it. 

Dean wrapped the towel around his head instead of his lower body, because he fucking could. His necklace had heated up from the steam and was burning warmly on his chest. If suburbanity didn't terrify Dean, he'd totally want to live like this.

"Someone was found dead three blocks from here, c'mon." 

Dean opened the door, Sam's impatient face waiting for him.

"This shower is awesome. Wanna join?" Dean smirked. Sam pulled a bitch face and started to turn around. 

"C'mon," Sam whined. Dean opened the door a little bit more.

"Hey, don't you walk away. I'm not letting you leave this place without trying this thing. Can't evil wait another ten minutes? We gotta wait for the cops to clear out anyways, Sam." Sam had kept walking until the last sentence. He stopped and turned slightly, Dean making his point. Dean grinned triumphantly.

"You coming or what?" Sam looked hesitant, his mind still on the job.

"Dean, I don't know, it'll take too long. Let's just go." 

"Nah man, you have to try this. I can even get out, if you want me to," Dean raised his eyebrows teasingly. Sam huffed and turned back around, rounding the corner and pounding down the stairs.

"It was a joke, Sam!" Dean shouted down the hallway. He shook his head to himself, muttering _"Tightass"_ before turning off the water and unwrapping the towel from his head. He really did need to find a way to loosen Sam up. He was back to taking this job way too seriously, and it was gonna kill him in the long run.

Dean made a mental note to find some bar after this job and get Sam drunk enough to stop being a prick. It would take more than a few drinks to actually get Sam more relaxed, but it was a damn good place to start.


	9. Advertent (Home - 01x09)

Missouri had never found people she couldn't read, and the Winchester boys were no different. She knew it was them from the moment they walked in, although their surprise when she called them by name was quite amusing.

"Well, lemme look acha." Missouri stood a few feet away, not really trying to read their thoughts, but getting a very unique wave of energy. The two of them had this flow of energy almost trapped between them. It wasn't just that though, Missouri could quite plainly read body language too. And how these two boys clung to each other was quite obvious from the not-so-subtle glancing or staring, the occasional touch that seemed so common it almost went unnoticed, the hypersensitivity to each other's locations. It was like there was a gravity between them.

Missouri knew a lot about energies, but this one was different than she'd ever seen. It was powerful, one of the most powerful things she'd ever seen, but it was just developing. It was at the tip of the iceburg, but already so apparent, it might cause these boys some trouble down the road. Even the least advertent of people would soon be able to see the magnetism between these two boys, but they wouldn't see what was truly there. People would judge, and infer, and condemn, all because they cannot put a name to what they do not know. People will assume sick, horrible things, see the kinkiness and immorality they want to see.

But Missouri had seen evil, in thousands of shapes and forms. And this was the farest thing she'd seen from it. There was absolutely nothing dark or twisted between those two boys. It was pure, white, golden love that had only good intentions and true meanings. That was probably because the love was such a strong family love in the beginning, it was easily heightened into an even stronger bond than just family.

Missouri could also tell though, that it was not the time to tell these boys any of this. It was clear from the way Dean slightly leaned into Sam's space on the couch, how he had Sam on his mind, even if slightly in the background, the entire time he was within Missouri's mind reach, that Dean was aware of something going on. It was interesting how he was aware of it, although battling it. She felt bad for the poor boy, for just a moment, but decided it was his own damn fault for being scared in the first place. 

She tapped into his thoughts, snapping at him just before he put his foot on her coffee table. Foolish boy. But Sam turned to Dean, smiling wide in amusement, and Dean's annoyance with Missouri instantly faded. She'd made Sam smile at him, and now his thoughts were all fuzzy with a haze of that image. Missouri shook her head slightly to herself. That boy had it so bad.

She was surprised that Sam hadn't registered the connection between them. There had been a deep connection for as long as Sam could remember, but he hadn't been able to place Dean's new type of reactions yet. Poor boy, didn't even know he'd broken his brother's heart. Dean was a good soldier after all, and that meant being good at hiding your emotions. But one day, Missouri knew, they'd both learn of their bond. Learn of the gravity and energy that sparked everytime their eyes met. Missouris felt blessed just to be able to witness that pure of a bond with her own two eyes. It had been a long time since she'd seen something so _good_ , so strong against evil. She had a feeling they'd need this, somewhere down the road, this bond would be the thing that saves them both. And maybe even more people than just them. Their love had the potential to grow enough to save the world some day. But that was far, far, down the road. For now, it was just time to grow that love between them. And with time, Missouri was sure it would.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam was seeing black dots when a shout suddenly cut through the fog in his brain.

"Sam!" Dean's voice. Dean was here, Sam was gonna be okay. But the black dots just seemed to jump and multiply, and Sam was starting to lose it. He could still feel Dean though, feel his hands on Sam's jacket, then on his neck, pulling at the chord choking him. Dean's pulse was thudding against Sam's skin as he tugged. His hands slipped away, the places where Dean's fingertips had brushed tingling with warmth. It was all going dark, and Sam thought that if he had to die, at least the last thing he felt was Dean. Later, Sam would remember thinking that, but blow it off to just childhood instinct.

Suddenly there was a very bright light, piercing through some of the black dots swarming Sam's vision. The cord around his neck went slack and Sam gasped in air, feeling stale in his lungs. Dean was on him again, just as swiftly as before.

"C'mon," Dean huffed, getting his hands on Sam's shoulders and pulling him up into Dean's chest. Sam could tell Dean was unwrapping the cord from his neck, but the light brush of fingers was hardly noticeable compared to the warmth surrounding his head and torso. His face was buried just above Dean's ribcage, his mouth a centimeter away from Dean's jacket. Sam breathed in as deeply as he could, breathing in the scent of leather and _Dean_. It was like Dean was his medicine, and his lungs suddenly opened up, letting more air in. Sam's face and chest were so warm, everywhere that Dean's body was pressed against his. Sam felt safe, for the first time since Jessica's death, safe with his body being cradled by Dean. Sam could keep his face in Dean's warmth for the rest of his life. 

But Dean moved Sam's head to unwrap the cord, pulling him back for just a moment before engulfing Sam in his body heat again. He held Sam, not squeezing, just gentle but firm. Like how a golden retriever could hold it's master's baby in its mouth. Sam's head rolled against Dean's, not having enough body strength to support it properly and not caring. Sam could feel his body on the mend, his lungs pumping slowly and the skin on his neck healing. He'd never been able to physically feel himself heal before, but he was surrounded by the best remedy he could have. Dean's touch seemed to speed up the healing process, or at least it felt like it. He supposed he was a bit delirious from almost dying, but Sam was perfectly content to just letting Dean hold him. Which he did. For as long as he could get away with.


	10. Exacerbated (Asylum - 01x10)

He hadn't started out the job angry at Dean. He was a little peeved about Dean's insistence on following Dad's orders all the time, but he wasn't actually angry. Even when he did get mad, it was a lot more at himself than it was at Dean. 

It started with a dream, but not one of his freaky future ones. More like just a normal, every day type of dream. In the dream, Sam had a nightmare and woke up (the worst dreams are the ones where you think you're awake but you aren't) freaking out. Dean had gotten out of his bed and crawled into Sam's, resting a hand on Sam's chest, over his heart, and soothe-talking him. Sam had instantly gotten this warm feeling and had fallen back asleep. When Sam woke up from the dream about Dean comforting him (actually awake now) Dean had been in his own bed, snoring softly, and he'd been a little freaked out. Dreaming about your brother was a really odd thing to do.

So Sam was already on edge when Dean tipped the scale even more.

"So who do you think's a hotter psychic, Patricia Artiquette, Jennifer Love-Hewit, or you?" Sam automatically reached out and playpunched his older brother. But he didn't punch Dean for the psychic teasing, even though that's what Dean assumed. Sam actually punched Dean because of the flutter in his chest when Dean implied he was hot. It took Sam by surprise, and it was quite annoying. So he scolded himself lightly and tried to shake the fluttery feeling. 

But it happened again, when Sam was sitting in Dr. James Elicott's office. He was trying to keep the story as realistic as he could about what he was doing with his life. But then the doctor leaned forward and asked a question that froze Sam in his tracks.

"How do you really feel about your brother?" Sam's heartbeat jumped into his throat and he swallowed, wide-eyed. No one had ever asked him that and Sam had no idea to respond. But the worst part was that his body was having a panic attack like this was a hard question to answer. It should've just been like "oh he annoys me sometimes, you know who siblings do" but Sam felt like he had just been exposed. He had no idea how to answer this right. Or even what the truth is.

Sam rambled off some speech about Dean being controlling, but inside he was just mad at himself. Why did he keep on reacting like a moron? It wasn't like Sam to get bothered about things, but this wasn't just anything. Sam was getting bothered by Dean, in a really weird sort of way. I mean, dreaming about him, having a mini fangirl attack, and now this freak out when he's asked how he feels about Dean. His body and mind were getting annoying and Sam had no idea why. He was sure that if he thought about it hard enough, he'd have an idea. But Sam didn't want to think about it. Ever again.

But thank god that spirits were fairly shallowminded. When Dr. Ellicott's ghost zapped Sam's anger emotions, he couldn't zap Sam's anger at himself. Which meant that when Sam was confessing things on his list of confessions, he left off the part of being angry for how he kept feeling about Dean. Which would have been the worst disaster of all time. Like, worse than leaving for Stanford disaster, Sam was pretty sure.

So Sam yelled at Dean for pointless stupid things that he wasn't really angry at. The whole "is Dean your boss" thing had annoyed him earlier, but Sam had already been annoyed by the clenching in his chest (that felt like it was from Dean), so that exacerbated it quite a bit. Which is why Sam ended up yelling at Dean for giving him orders. Shallow and stupid, but the ghost's shallowness just used whatever was upfront the most.

The thing about Sam being angry at Dean for following Dad's orders, that was true. He didn't hate Dean for it though, Sam understood. Dean had done that their entire lives, but Sam had just hoped it had faded with time. It had actually gotten worse while Sam was away, which worried Sam quite a bit. Sam could handle his Dad okay, but he couldn't fight against Dean and his Dad as a team. He'd end up kicked out of the house again before that happened.

"I'm not in a sharing and caring mood," Dean had said as he threw his bag in the Impala's backseat. Sam had tried to apologize, and he wasn't lying in his apology, but Dean was being stubborn as ever. Sam knew when Dean was hurt, and now was definitely one of those times. Sam had to do something.

So when Dean crashed down on the bed of some new motel room in smalltown nowhere, Sam made his move. It was hard to convince himself to do, especially considering that he got that fluttery feeling again even thinking about it. But what had to be done had to be done.

"Hey Dean?" Sam asked quietly, popping his boots off from the edge of his bed. Dean raised his eyebrows and mumbled in reply. His eyes were already shut, boots thrown haphazardly on the floor along with his jacket, buttonup, and jeans, sheet tucked up under his arms. Sam stripped down as well, throwing on sweats and a tshirt. Sam didn't finish his question yet, instead walking around to the other side of Dean's bed and hesitating before climbing onto it. Dean half-turned at the weight compression, watching Sam through hooded eyes as Sam picked up the sheets and threw them over himself as well. 

Sam laid down, his head on the pillow next to Dean's pillow. Dean moved to roll over and face Sam, but winced with pain from his chest. Sam automatically reached out a hand to stop him, clutching Dean's bicep tightly and not letting him roll over. 

"It's okay, I don't want you in anymore pain." Dean snorted, but obliged, turned back to his first position, his back to Sam. After a moment Sam removed his hand, watching Dean's breathing even out as the rocksalt pain slipped away.

"So what do you want then?" Dean spoke quietly but gruffly. Sam just laid there for a moment, watching Dean's back expand and contract with his breathing.

"I, uh, I wanted to apologize. Again. For back there. I know you still think I meant all of that Dean." Sam was silent for a moment, giving Dean a chance to interject, but Dean was silent. Sam huffed out a breath and spoke again.

"I don't hate you Dean. Quite the contrary. I promise, it was the spell talking. And I could never shoot you Dean. Ever." Sam whispered the last word, bring his arm up to Dean's shoulder and placing it there lightly. He made no move to turn Dean, he just needed to emphasize his point by touching him. Dean's shoulders visibly relaxed, sinking down. Sam hadn't realized just how tense Dean had been.

"I understand if you're upset, but I wanted to make sure you knew that." Sam slowly took his hand back and turned his body, pressing his back up against Dean's. Sam was filled with a sudden warmth, and it was extremely nice. Sam kind of had the urge to cradle Dean in his arms, press Dean's back to Sam's chest and splay his hands across Dean's torso, falling asleep like that. But he also knew Dean would probably punch him for it, not to mention that Dean's torso was wrecked from rocksalt wounds. And Sam should not be thinking like that. 

So Sam settled for pressing their backs together. It felt safe, and warm, and it was the fastest Sam fell asleep in a long time. He didn't know that Dean had stayed up almost all night, partially because of the images of Sam's gun to his face swarming his mind, partially because of the stinging pain still lodged in his chest (the rocksalt itself, Sam had removed earlier, but the holes were still there), but mostly because Sam was in his bed and Dean could absolutely not fall asleep without fearing what he'd dream about. But eventually the warmth of Sam's back overtook his will and he drifted into sleep, his dreams filled with hazel eyes and a dimpled smile.


	11. Pretentious (Scarecrow - 01x11)

"I'll go get us checked in," Sam was out of the car before Dean even turned the engine off. Kid was eager. It was probably because he felt guilty for ditching Dean's ass in the middle of nowhere Indiana to go on his soulsearch for Dad. But whatever the reason, Dean let him run inside and get them their motel room. If Sammy wanted to make it up to him through being a slave, Dean was cool with that. Well, not a slave, but yeah.

Dean got his duffel and a gun bag out of the back of the Impala, leaving Sam's duffel for him to get. Sam emerged from the front lobby door, tossing Dean the keys from a little ways across the parking lot. Dean caught them and read the room number, locating it at a few doors down from where he parked the Impala. That was good. He fumbled with the key in the lock, managing to get it open and flipping on the motel room light.

Dean kind of just stood and stared at the room. He hadn't stayed in a room like this in a long time. Why did Sam-

Dean turned around, watching Sam wrestle his duffel out of the trunk. Sam closed the trunk and started walking towards him, his face showing no signs of recognition for why Dean didn't go in the room.

"Uh, Sam? When I said I wanted you to hold me earlier, I was kidding. In case you didn't figure that out." Well, Dean had been partially kidding. He had missed Sam a lot when he left, and the idea of holding on to Sam until he promised never to run away again sounded like a good one. Dean still hadn't fully gotten over that numb pain he felt when Sam walked away, when Sam didn't call, when Sam was gone again. 

But Sam just smirked, blowing past Dean and into the room. He sat his stuff on the floor and plopped down on the bed. The one bed. The king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

"I know you were joking Dean. I didn't get the bed for you."

"Uh, well, I have to sleep on it, so what the hell do you mean?" Sam was untying his boots, his hair flopping in his eyes. Dean finally came into the room, closing the door behind him. He dropped his bags too, but made no move otherwise, just staring at Sam. Sam finally looked up, whipping his head to the side to get hair out of his face.

"Look, I had to sleep in a chair in a bus station last night. I needed all the room I could get, and the options were two twins or a king and a twin is not big enough tonight." 

"Hey man, that's your own fault. If you hadn't had ditched, you could've been in a nice motel room last night." Not that Dean had been. Dean felt it would be weird to pay for a motel room and have an empty bed staring at him, so he'd slept in the Impala. He hadn't exactly got much sleep either, but he wasn't a girl enough to insist on having a king sized bed.

"Is this about the bed or about something else?" Sam had his boots off now, and had crawled up onto the bed. He stopped his process of picking which pillow he wanted to turn and look at Dean.

"Forget I said anything. The bed's fine. But don't think this is going to be a regular thing, cause it's not. Understood?" Sam just rolled his eyes at Dean and took the pillow off of Dean's side of the bed, switching it with his. Even stole his pillow, the bastard.

If this was because Dean had caved the other day and let Sam sleep in the same bed as him...but that had been totally different. Sam needed to be forgiven, Dean could see the pain on his face was worse than the rock salt wounds in Dean's chest. So it wasn't like he could deny Sam at least a little comfort. But now that he was staring at a king sized bed - oh god, the clerk probably had died at the request, especially if she saw who Sam was with - Dean was starting to regret letting Sam stay the night.

But Dean grudgingly crawled onto the bed anyways, sighing in defeat. If Sam was going to be a pretentious princess, Dean might as well enjoy the thick comforter. Dean folded his pillow in half and sunk down on it, pulling the sheets up under his arms. He'd shed his shirt without thinking, because he normally did that, but regretted it the instant Sam got under the sheets. Dean couldn't exactly get up and throw on a tshirt now, it'd be obviously awkward. So he just scooted over to the edge of the bed a bit more, making sure he wasn't touching the sprawled out Sam. 

Maybe it was the lack of sleep for the previous night, or the really awesome comforter, but Dean actually fell asleep in record time. Because it couldn't have been the body warmth on the otherside of the bed that Dean could somehow feel despite the six inches between them. 

Dean woke up the next morning before Sam did, jerking out of a dream quickly. He blinked open his eyes and looked down, his eyes widening at the sight. Sam was draped across his body, Sam's left leg wrapped around Dean's right. Sam had an arm draped over Dean's chest, and his head was resting beneath Dean's collarbone. Dean's hand was on Sam's back, awkwardly draped funny because he couldn't remember putting it there. Dean drew his hand back like it was burning, and it kind of was, in a weird and warm sort of tingly way.

But one look at Sam's peaceful resting face, and Dean suddenly didn't have the heart to move him. He put his hand back, stroking Sam's back gently once. It wasn't often that Sam got sleep, hell, Dean couldn't remember the last time Sam had slept through a night without either waking up to a nightmare or just plain waking up every couple of hours. 

Right now, though, Sam was out cold. For the first time in a long time. And Dean was going to be an awesome brother and let him sleep. As long as he could. Which turned out to be quite a while actually. Although Dean didn't mind, he was fairly engaged in watching the slow rise and fall of Sam's shoulderblades as he breathed.


	12. Adamant (Faith - 01x12)

When Sam opened the door, his face dawned with recognition and he lit up with pure joy for a second before bringing himself back to reality and talking.

"The hell are you doing here?" He stared at Dean, who was wrapped in one of Sam's favorite hoodies, his hair flattened against his forehead and dark circles under his eyes.

"I checked myself out," Dean hobbled forward, first with his weight on the door frame, then propping himself forward as he stepped in the door. Sam couldn't keep his eyes off of Dean, still frozen in place as Dean moved into the room. 

"Are you crazy?" Dean turned and faced Sam. Funny how Dean's eyes still managed to be so green even when the rest of his body looked like it was fading away.

"I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot." Sam snorted, his mouth catching in an involuntary grin. He shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the pretty green ones in front of him for just a moment to close the door.

"You know this whole, I laugh in the face of death thing, it's crap." Dean went from wincing in pain to tilting his head up to Sam's. "I can see right through it."

Dean nodded in recognition. He glanced down and away, the way Dean always did when he was avoiding something.

"Yeah, whatever dude." Dean's glance kept flitting back and forth between the floor and Sam's adamant gaze.

"Have you even slept? You look worse than me." Dean turned and began attempting to hobble his way into the room again, and Sam instantly reached out and put one of his hands on Dean's shoulder, wrapping the other arm around Dean's waist, guiding him and trying to take some of the weight. Surprisingly, Dean didn't shrink away from Sam's touch or verbally accuse him of anything. Dean's body was much colder than it should have been, and that was with a shirt and Sam's hoodie on. Sam would have to do something about that.

He quickly explained what he'd been doing, and how they were going to go to a specialist Joshua had found. Dean grudgingly obliged, although it wasn't very easy to convince him.

"It sounds like I don't have much of a choice," Dean huffed, after Sam had declared loudly _We're going_. Sam stood up from his seat on the bed, stepping around to the side of Dean's chair.

"Yep. And you know what else you don't have a choice in?" Sam reached down and circled his arms around Dean's torso, lifting him up gently. Dean protested weakly, but Sam shut him up with a look. Then Dean just sighed dramatically and let Sam lead him around the bed, setting him down on the edge of the comforter by the window. Sam let go of Dean with one of his hands for just long enough to sweep everything that had been thrown across the bed onto the floor. Dean started fussing again as Sam dropped to his knees and started untying Dean's boots.

"We have to leave early morning, it's too late right now. We'd get there at two o'clock in the morning, and I don't know if I can carry you into a motel room in the dark. So for now, you are going to get some sleep." 

"What are you gonna do?" Dean asked, his voice still shot with pain and weariness. Sam didn't answer, just pulled back the comforter and sheets for Dean, placing a hand on his back and one over his heart, slowly guiding him down onto the bed. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again when his head hit the pillow.

"Dude, I'm not four."

"No, but you are dying of a heart attack. So cut me some slack." Dean raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips together, looking up at Sam. He looked away for a moment, swallowing, his eyes drifting down to the hand Sam still had over his heart. Sam had slid his other hand out from underneath Dean's back, but for some reason just hadn't taken away that hand yet. It was weird, like Sam had this constant urge to touch Dean. Maybe it was the fact that every time he touched Dean, he felt like he could support him, or save him in some way. Or maybe it was that every time Sam touched him, it could be the last time he touched Dean and felt body heat, alive and warm. Sam shook that scary thought away, Dean was _not_ going to die.

Dean's eyes went back to Sam's, and Sam filled with pity and hurt, seeing Dean so broken like this. Sam finally pulled his hand away reluctantly, and maybe it was his imagination, but Dean's body seemed to wilt a bit more when he did. Sam quickly stepped away from the edge of the bed, walking to the door to safety bolt it and shut off the lights. It wasn't that dark yet, it was only like 8 P.M, so Sam had no trouble seeing his boots to toe them off. He walked to his bag, which was laying on the other bed, and quickly shrugged off his jeans in favor of sweats like the one's Dean was wearing. It was still pretty chilly in here, so Sam kept on his shirts. 

When he turned back to Dean's bed, Dean turned his eyes quickly away from Sam, like he had been watching him in the dim lighting. Sam stepped forward towards Dean's bed, lifting up the corner of the sheets and sliding underneath them, already breathing better with the extra warmth. Sam scooted across the bed to Dean, who had turned on his side to face the window. Sam knew Dean felt him get on to the bed, they practically could feel what the other was thinking half the time, but Dean didn't move. Which was actually a good thing right now.

Sam sidled his body up behind Dean's, a few inches away at first as he tentatively reached out his hand to Dean's hip. Dean didn't flinch away, although he tensed up a little bit and his breathing got a little shallower. Sam slid his hand over to Dean's diaphragm, pushing backwards on his chest until Dean's back collided with Sam's chest. Dean murmured something inaudible and Sam tilted his head forward, breathing over Dean's neck. Sam curled his legs up to mimic Dean's half-curled position, lining up their bodies and giving Dean as much support and warmth as he could.

Dean didn't really protest the position, which was nice, although Sam wouldn't have moved if Dean did protest. After about five minutes or so, Dean's breathing started to deepen again, and his muscles began to relax under Sam's grip. Sam could feel the tension leave Dean's shoulders, and even his head sunk deeper into their shared pillow. His body started to rise and fall steadily. Sam laid there for a moment, trying to figure out what felt so different about this than any other time he'd held someone. He finally placed it as Dean began to fall asleep. It was the breathing. They were breathing perfectly in sync, and had been since the moment their bodies went flush against each other. It was a little eerie, but Sam decided he didn't mind. At least Dean was asleep now, and that was the whole point.

Sam's original plan had been to stay awake, watch over Dean from his protective position wrapped around him. But Dean's body warmth sent Sam off the edge into dreams very quickly. And he surprisingly didn't have any nightmares, not even ones about Dean dying. It was all just warmth now, just the press of his body against his brother's. This was definitely something Sam could get used to.


	13. Agnate (Route 666 - 01x13)

This was probably the most mind boggling job Dean had ever been on. He was so torn, so stuck between everything.

On one hand, there was Cassie. She was the first girl Dean had really been with longer than a weekend, and the first girl he'd let himself actually like after Sam had left. He'd told her he'd had his heart broken once, but never gave her any other details. Dean had come as close as a young person could to thinking they might be in love. Dean had needed a love story, so he settled for the best one he thought he could have. Cassie was beautiful, of course, but that wasn't why Dean fell so hard. It was her personality that drew him in, which actually made him fairly upset with himself once he realized why. Cassie was fiery, independent, with her own opinion. She loved to research and write, and was dead set on living her own life at college. 

Which, Dean realized later, made her agnate to Sam. Except Sam was a lot more than just those things, that was just surface one that everyone knew. So on the other hand, there was Sam. Who'd been questioning Dean since the moment Cassie called, a teasing smile playing at his lips. He asked Dean questions that Dean refused to answer, and _still_ got the answer somehow. Just by looking at Dean. And if that wasn't enough, he was walking around in a suit, talking about love 24/7. Dean at one point had to bite his lip to keep himself from interrupting Sam's one-sided interrogation questions with some outburst he shouldn't say.

The problem was, Sam could read him perfectly, and Cassie being a journalist, could read him fairly well. So after he'd gone to her house, fought, and slept with her, here he was, laying in the dark, thinking about everything.

"We should fight more often," Cassie's voice interrupted his thoughts. 

"Absolutely," Dean said, trying not to make it sound as half-hearted as it was. Cassie was as good as ever, it just. His head felt like he was in to it because he knew he should be. He had been at one point, so why not now too? 

"Actually we were always pretty good at fighting. This, we were good at." Dean managed a tight smile. He just felt weird, this whole intimate thing. "It's all the other stuff, not so much."

"Hey I tried. When I told you who I really was, that was a big first for me."

"Why did you tell me?" _Because I had this image in my head, that if I could tell you, I could still be with you and try to fill this whole inside me. I needed someone who knew the real me, and no one did except a floppy haired boy half way across the country that hadn't talked to me in a year and two months._ But Dean couldn't say that.

"I don't know." _I don't know why I thought I could replace Sammy. I was young and stupid._ "I guess I couldn't lie to you."

Cassie explained a bit, and Dean listened.

"I'm a scary one, alright," Cassie joked. Her sense of humour was a little dry, but Dean huffed a laugh, mainly because she had no idea.

Then she started talking about the future, and Dean sighed, realizing his distraction would be over soon.

"Well, usually things get worked out when you want them to." Dean pursed his lips, wishing she hadn't said that, because working things out with Cassie wasn't something he wanted. I mean, it'd be nice, but it was pretty low down on the list of priorities. Right now, getting Sam to not take off to Stanford again was quite a bit higher than a relationship with an ex-girlfriend.

"Yeah, but I'm still really involved-" With feelings for Sam that are driving me insane- "with my dad's work."

Cassie sat up, looking at Dean.

"No more excuses, okay?" Cassie leaned forward and kissed Dean, and he was grateful for the temporary break in conversation. But then she pulled away, looking him in the eyes.

"And no more lies, either. You didn't have to pretend that Sam was your brother, Dean." Dean cocked his head and looked at her curiously.

"Look, I see the way he watches you, all the time. And I see how you look at him Dean. I know you two either were, or are, involved. Or you at least should be." Dean considered interrupting her, but figured he'd let her finish her schpeel.

"You two are practically in sync when you walk, it's kind of ridiculous actually. I don't know if you just don't see it, but. You'd be better off with him than with me. And you know that. He's closer to you than I could ever dream of being. And he's can do your job with you. I feel like he really understands you Dean. So don't give up so easy on him, okay?"

Dean nodded slightly. 

"Yeah, okay," Dean wasn't sure if he meant it, but this whole thing was turning out better than he thought it would. He kind of blew off most of what Cassie said, because half those things really were normal. Besides, Dean highly doubted that Sam ever watched him, he didn't have much of a reason to. And a lot of people walked in sync. And of course he was close, he was his brother. Sammy was always the only one to come close to understanding Dean. 

Then the phone rang, ironically, Sam. Cassie half sat up, letting Dean halfheartedly throw his arm around her again. But she'd felt how quickly he'd pushed her away the moment the phone rang, she knew how he was actually feeling.

"Yeah?" He answered, and Cassie ducked her head, hiding a smile. She was glad Dean was happy, with his friend. She just wished he'd stop being his stubborn self and actually get over the fact that he was in love with the boy. Cassie knew the look, and she knew it was Sam that Dean put first. She just didn't know what was holding him back so much. Whatever it was, it had to be secondary to the way he felt for Sam. Nothing could be important enough to have to hold back that feeling.

She just hoped that Dean came to his senses before it was too late. And she figured he would. He might need a little guidance, but he'd figure it out.


	14. Recurring (Nightmare - 01x14)

Sam usually protested every time Dean started being overprotective, but for once he didn't mind. He was scared, and he needed all the extra comfort he could get. 

The protective act started when Dean insisted that they sleep in the same bed, in case Sam had another nightmare. Sam was still shaken up about not being able to get to the man in the car in time, and Dean could tell he was upset, so Sam agreed. They couldn't talk to the family until morning, so they just crashed in a new motel room, Sam's head on Dean's chest and wrapped tightly in the sheets. Dean stroked Sam's hair until Sam fell asleep, something he used to do when Sam was little. 

Sam used to have nightmares, especially after he found out about hunting. When he was younger, Sam would run into Dean's room in the middle of the night (if they weren't sharing a room, which was rare), jumping onto his bed and latching on to Dean, trembling and shaking. Dean would always talk him through it, let him know he was safe and that Dean would never let anything hurt his Sammy. Then he'd run his fingers through Sam's hair, petting him until Sam fell asleep, and then just letting his hand rest tangled in the silky strands as he fell asleep too. 

Once Sam reached about twelve, he'd just come to Dean's doorway, quietly whispering Dean's name to see if he was awake. Dean never was, but he always woke up to Sam's whisper somehow and he pretended he'd been awake all along, knowing that Sam would feel guilty about intruding on his sleep. Dean would beckon Sam over, letting Sam lie down a couple inches away from Dean on the bed, then he'd stroke his hair again, just using his touch to comfort Sam instead of his words. 

So the position was a recurring one, although Dean hadn't soothed one of Sam's nightmares in years. It was quite nostalgic, although Dean would never tell Sam that. Sam fell asleep almost instantly, which was surprising and quite nice. He hadn't realized how much he'd been missing this, even while he was at Stanford. Sam had to find a new remedy for nightmares while he was in college, and it usually involved some form of alcohol.

Sam woke up without any violent cold shaking, without having seen someone dying behind his closed eyes. He was automatically in a better mood, although that changed quickly that afternoon. Sam had been just talking through some theories on the case as Dean was cleaning his guns, when all of a sudden his head burst out with a sharp pain, and his body grew cold. The sharp pain intensified to a throb and Sam put his hand on his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

He vaguely heard Dean's voice in the distance, asking him what was wrong. Sam started to respond, but cried out as the pain got worse. He kind of sunk off the bed, landing on the floor and clutching his head. He couldn't hear any of the sounds of the room anymore, until one crystal clear sound shot through the pain and dulled it for just a millisecond before it raged up again.

"Sam!" 

Sam was shaking from the cold and from the feeling that his head would split in half. Suddenly there were two warm hands on his body, anchoring him to reality. He reached out blindly, grabbing onto the familiar jacket in front of him. He held on to Dean for dear life as his vision suddenly changed, and he could see the inside of an apartment. It was sickening to watch the window open itself, Sam already predicting what would happen. 

But throughout it all, throughout the pain and the extreme scariness of not being inside his own head anymore, Sam could still feel Dean's hands on his body. He held on to that, held on to Dean, like he would drift away into his vision if he didn't. Sam could feel something pulling at him, pulling him to somewhere dark, trying to put evil into his mind. But Sam resisted easily, just holding onto the feeling of Dean encompassing him. 

Dean wouldn't let Sam out of his sight after that, afraid he'd collapse at any given moment and not willing to let him go through that alone. And his protective level went up three notches, suddenly soccer-moming Sam. They were about to cross a road, and Sam was talking, but still paying attention. But it didn't matter, Dean's hand still shot out automatically, stopping Sam from stepping into the street. The back of Dean's hand rested against his stomach for a moment before he put it back down again, continuing their conversation like nothing had happened. Sam would normally be annoyed with Dean, but he was a little appreciative for the extra support right now.

The next time Sam's head started pounding, while they were talking to the Miller's old neighbor, Sam turned to Dean, needing help and knowing Dean would be able to tell. Dean instantly rushed to his side, throwing a thank you over his shoulder, then putting his arm around Sam, holding him as the pain got worse. Dean put his hand on Sam's stomach for a moment, signaling him to stop walking as he opened up Sam's car door. Then he put his arms back around Sam, slowly lowering him into the car. 

Sam was in the Miller's kitchen, watching Max threaten his stepmother. But he could still feel Dean's hands, one over his heart and one squeezing his thigh gently. He anchored himself to reality that way, and that's how he pulled himself back, picturing Dean, picturing everywhere Dean was touching him. The solidity of his brother pulled him out of the nightmare, and Sam gasped, blinking his eyes open.

Sam was sitting in shotgun of the Impala, and Dean was crouching next to him, the door still open. His face was crinkled with worry, and he instantly started rubbing Sam's leg as soon as his eyes opened.

"Sammy? You okay?" Sam swallowed and nodded, his hand reaching up and grasping the one Dean had over his heart. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to slow his heart rate back to normal.

"It's Max. We have to go stop him." Dean began to protest for a moment, saying Sam needed a second to breathe first, but Sam insisted that sitting shotgun was enough of a breather for him. So Dean stood up and closed his door, running around to the other side and sliding in, turning to Sam after pulling on to the road.

"You sure you're okay?" _Yes, thanks to you_. But Sam just nodded again, staring out the window and focusing on his breathing. He wasn't sure why Dean's touch was so comforting, but he chalked it up to a instinct formed in his childhood. Dean had always been his protector when he was younger, and it seemed like it would still be that way now too. Dean was safe, and safe was exactly what Sam needed.


	15. Exasperated (The Benders - 01x15)

Dean had barely walked inside the door before Sam was on him, hands grabbing the front of Dean's jacket and shrugging it off of his shoulders. Dean tilted his head up to look at Sam in surprise.

"Um, can I help you?" Dean's words came out a lot less intimidating than he wanted them to be. His hands were still caught in the jacket, behind his back, and he suddenly felt very trapped. Dean took a step backwards, but Sam just tugged the jacket the rest of the way off and started unbuttoning Dean's shirt.

"Sam, what are you doing." Dean's voice was shaky now as he reached up his hands to stop Sam. Sam finally looked at him, his eyes furrowed with confusion.

"I'm going to fix the brand that's burned into your shoulder?" Sam said, his tone of voice implying the _duh_ at the end. Dean's heart rate suddenly slowed and he looked down, swallowing. Of course that's what Sam was doing, what did Dean think was happening? But so that Sam wouldn't know that he was thinking quite different other things, and freaking out because of them, he figured he'd still pitch a fit. That way, it would look like he knew all along what Sam's intentions were and that he wasn't freaking out for other reasons. Because he wasn't.

"Sam, I can undress myself. I'm not five." Dean batted at Sam's hands, which were on the lowest button, right above Dean's jeans. Sam took his hands back, putting on his exasperated face. Dean unbuttoned the last one and moved to shrug it off his shoulders, wincing as the fabric tugged on the burn. Sam instantly took the shirt in his hands again, pulling it up and over Dean's shoulder. 

"Right, cause you're doing a great job there with your injury. Will you please just stop being difficult and let me stitch you up?" Dean huffed at that, but didn't move to stop Sam as he grabbed the hem of Dean's shirt.

Sam's fingers brushed against Dean's stomach and sent chills fluttering through his entire body. Sam's hands stayed on his bare skin just a moment too long before he tugged the shirt upwards, carefully avoiding Dean's burn as he tugged the shirt over Dean's head. 

Dean couldn't see anything for a moment while the fabric was over his eyes, but when his head popped free, he saw Sam's eyes flicker guiltily away from his bare chest. Dean would have said some snide comment, but the look on Sam's face made him decide against it. Sam quickly backed away, balling the shirt and tossing it, reaching into Dean's bag to grab a medical kit. 

Dean made his way over to one of the beds, plopping down and cradling his arm against his chest. Sam sat down in front of him, pulling out Lavaderm and spraying it on the burn. Dean winced at the temporary sting, then clenched his fist as Sam worked on him. Sam's fingers were nimble for how huge they were, and the rough pads of his fingers were softer than they should have been. 

"Is that okay?" Sam asked softly as he finished. Dean looked at the bandage, carefully taped so he could still move his arm fine.

"Yeah, thanks." Sam ducked his head. Neither of them were particularly used to appreciation, especially in their line of work.

"No problem," Sam muttered, getting up off the bed and opening up his duffel.

"And how about you stop getting your ass kidnapped, alright? A guy can only take so much before he just stops saving you, kay?" Dean was half kidding, but very serious about Sam being more careful. The kid was damn reckless.

Sam looked up at his words, a grin on his face.

"You could never stop saving me, man. Face it." Dean rolled his eyes at that and tossed a pillow in Sam's direction. Sam's eyes were on his duffel, but he still snatched the pillow out of midair, not looking up. 

"Show off," Dean muttered, laying back on the bed. He kicked his boots off and decided he was sleeping in jeans. Without a shirt. Because whatever, he couldn't undress himself and there was no way he was letting Sam unbutton his jeans for him. That was _so_ not happening. 

Dean watched Sam from across the room, readying himself for bed. Dean had been so worried, he hated not knowing if Sam was okay. And he was grateful too, grateful he'd just been locked in a cage, nothing else. He could have been hurt, or…worse. Dean focused back in on Sam, his hair hanging in his face as he looked down to take off his jeans. Suddenly Dean looked away, his face hot and red. He'd seen Sam change a million times before, but his body was still acting funny. Maybe it was the aggressive attack on Dean when Sam tried to undress him, or maybe it was the psychological damage of getting his ass kicked by an eight year old girl. Either way, Dean was out of it and treading into dangerous territory. So he just closed his eyes, listening for Sam's sleep noises and not falling asleep himself until he was sure his brother was.


	16. Harrowing (Shadows - 01x16)

John heard them before he saw them, a set of what sounded like one pair of boots, walking down the hallway. It was only when one pair stopped and the other took an extra step that someone could realize it had actually been two different people, just so in sync they moved as one. So things hadn't changed between them then. If anything, their hips were more attached than before, by the sound of it.

His boys had stayed together, and that was the reason for the smile on his face as John turned around to face them. They both were beaten up pretty badly, but he'd never seen either boy in better shape. Dean looked the most different, his eyes actually showing a life behind them. Dean had been dead for so long once Sam had left, and John had honestly believed the boy wouldn't ever recover. But, from the looks of it, Dean had his soul back and he looked alright. More than alright. Sam looked good too, his eyes holding a spark that matched Dean's exactly. The front of Sam's shoulder was pressed up against the back of Dean's, the two of them standing so closely they were touching at the shoulders and hips and legs. It was Sam's automatic reaction as soon as he felt the danger in Dean's voice, and this made John proud. Those boys had raised each other well, they grew into each other just like he had prayed they would. He knew that at one time, he wouldn't be able to be here for them, but he wasn't worried about their safety anymore. Those two boys would take care of each other, or die trying.

"Dad."

"Hey boys." Dean first reaction was to turn to Sam, make sure he was alright. Sam barely glanced at Dean for more than a millisecond, but Dean read his message very clearly. John grinned at the silent communication, tears in his eyes at the sight of his sons. They were so functional, so good together that John sometimes worried for them. But it was better for them to be close, and have a few lines crossed over, then to have them apart, half-dead and in danger. John would take whatever happened between those two with a grain of salt, so long as they protected each other. That's what's important, not some social standard on how their relationship should work.

If there was only one thing he ever got right as a father, it was "Dean watch out for your brother." 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"There's gotta be something you want for yourself."

"I don't want you to leave the second this thing's over Sam."

If Sam hadn't been so busy being caught up in the idea of getting to go back to school, getting a normal life after all, then Sam would have heard it at the time. And then he could have questioned it, demanded an explanation. As it was, it wasn't until that night, sitting shotgun next to Dean, that Sam actually heard the words for what they were. His cheek was on fire, and he knew Dean's forehead would be harrowing, but all he could really think about -- since he'd already thought for the past three hours about John and literally had nothing else to analyze -- were Dean's words, back in the room earlier.

 _Something Dean wants for himself: For Sam not to leave._ So basically, what Dean wanted was for Sam to stay. And if you want someone to stay, you want _them_. Sam kept rerunning that conversation over again in his head. Basically, what Dean wanted for himself was Sam. To stay. To not leave. 

Sam had no idea what he was supposed to do with this information. The only person Sam ever went to when he needed help was Dean. But this was about Dean, so Sam couldn't tell him, hence why he was on his own on this one. 

The road was endless ahead, and the landscape was beautiful in the dark, but the only thing in Sam's vision as he slowly drifted off to sleep was the profile of his brother, the bright red still slightly matted to his forehead. The slope of his lips, the flash of light in his eyes as they drove under a street light. His loose grip on the steering wheel, the way he'd glance over at Sam every now and then to make sure he was alright. Even though Sam was just a foot away, Dean still needed visual reassurance. Which Sam didn't mind, Dean had done that his whole life, and he was used to being protected. Dean's eyes met his half-shut ones for just a moment, and green was the last thing Sam saw before he slipped into the dream world. And that's what he saw there, too. Green eyes, pretty pink smile. Haunting his dreams in the shadows, just like a Daeva.


	17. Reprobation (Hell House - 01x17)

Dean didn't think it was possible for one person to be so many different things. He was on such a high though, he didn't really even find time to scold himself until after they were already on the road out of Texas. It had all started on the road they were driving right now, but they had been going the opposite direction.

Dean was listening to BOC, his eyes drifting over to Sam every once in a while. Sam was asleep in the passenger seat, and due to the fact that Sam hardly ever got a good night's rest, Dean let him sleep peacefully through half of Texas. Which is, if you've ever been in Texas, a really long ways. 

Sam's face wasn't as peaceful as it could be, his forehead still was scrunched up a little bit from stress lines, but he seemed fairly comfortable other than that. He'd fallen asleep facing Dean, which was one of his signature positions. It was either head against the window, curled up in the seat, or legs stretched out with his head either on Dean's shoulder or the back of the seat next to him. Sam's mouth was parted slightly, a habit he must've picked up at Stanford. He only slept like that in the Impala though, so Dean didn't tease him about it. Much. 

Unfortunately, Sam looked really cute like that. Dean tried to avoid thinking descriptive words like cute, but he was in a really good mood and he couldn't help it. He turned back to the road for a moment, killing them and crashing Baby would be an epic mood kill, before he grabbed a spoon from the dash. Dean threw his arm over the seat, carefully placing the spoon in between Sam's parted lips. There. Now he looked more funny than cute. But still kinda cute.

Dean pulled out his phone and snapped a picture, chuckling before turning back to the road again. He told himself the picture was purely for blackmail purposes only, and had nothing at all to do with the fact that Sam was really cute when he slept and that Dean didn't have enough good photos of Sam with him, something he realized after Sam had left for Stanford. They were never really the photo type, which had never been a problem when Dean saw Sam every day. Once Sam was gone though, Dean had wished he'd at least caught one picture of his brother. Just, to have. 

And now he did have one, and Sam was sleeping in it too, and it was the perfect cover. Dean could just set the picture as his phone background, pretending to do it to piss Sam off. Blackmail photos were absolutely the best.

Dean cranked up the stereo, yelling out the words to Fire of Unknown Origin. Sam startled awoke, spitting the spoon out of his mouth and batting at it like a cat. Well that certainly fell under the cute category too. Dean laughed, barely able to keep his eyes on the road. Sam was just so goddamned cute, even if he was cranky.

Later that day though, Dean was definitely not thinking the word cute. The only words that were really coming to mind as Dean stood, jaw on the ground, quite obviously staring at Sam's dripping, bare figure in front of him, were words like wet and hot and holy fucking shit I'm going to die. But Dean settled for hot, for very very hot, because that's exactly how his skin felt, flushed and holy shit he had to get out of here right now. Dean brushed past Sam into the bathroom, making an effort not to touch him and closing the door behind him with a forced smile. 

The second Dean was alone, he splashed cold water on his face. _Smooth, _he thought. The second Sam had emerged, steam rolling out behind his golden body like some kind of fucking movie, Dean had turned and froze, his hand coming up in his hair and totally at loss for words. He stammered something, couldn't even remember what, before hiding in here. Wow, when the hell had Sam turned hot. He had just been the adorable kid brother, and this morning, he'd been pretty cute. But now, Sam was hot. Very very hot.__

__Dean spent some time contemplating how someone could go from looking cute to hot just by taking their shirt off, but decided the more he thought about it, the worse his whole situation was going to be, so he dropped it. Wasn't in the mood for reprobation. But then, an entire other bomb got dropped on him, and ripped the skin off. Literally._ _

__They were sitting in some Texas themed restaurant, and Dean was chugging back a beer, like usual. Then Sam looked at him, his face twisting down in an effort to stop a smile. Dean looked at him curiously, trying to figure out what was so funny. Then Sam couldn't help but laugh as he lifted his bottle to his lips. Dean's eyes flitted to them for just a moment, watching the drop of moisture on the bottle transfer to Sam's lips._ _

Dean tipped his head back quickly, taking another swig to take his eyes off of Sam. When he went to set his beer down, it didn't leave his hand. Dean looked credulously at it for a moment, hearing a chiming laugh and looking up at Sam. Dean's eyes were wide as he shook his hand, realizing the beer was stuck to it. Sam leaned back in his chair, laughing with more sincerity than Dean had seen in years. Sam's eyes were lit up like fireworks, his mouth curving up so much it made his entire face twinkle. 

"You didn't." Dean said, more of a statement than a question. Sam threw his head back, the crappy overhead lighting somehow making him glow. Then he lifted his hand up from under the table, a tube of superglue in between his fingers.

"I did." Sam sputtered off in his laughing fit again, throwing his head back and grinning at Dean like Dean was the sun. Dean could do nothing but sit and stare. Sit and stare at the extremely radiant and _beautiful_ person in front of him. Sam was beautiful lit up like this, so happy and so free and so young and Dean just sat and stared. Sam let his gaze fall on Dean again, somehow making his eyes even brighter than they were before. Dean had always thought he'd be the one to dim Sam's brilliance, but it looked like Sam actually got brighter when he looked at Dean. 

Dean was staring for much too long, he knew, but he couldn't really turn his gaze away from that grin. Finally Sam leaned forward, his grin still not faltering. Dean blinked out of his daze, but no words came when he tried to move his lips. Sam was still shining too bright.

"You want me to help with that?" Sam reached his hand out, placing it over Dean's. The sudden touch made Dean snap entirely out of it, looking down at the bottle that was glued to his hand, and at Sam's fingers that were gently resting on his hand. Dean pulled his hand away from Sam, grabbing the neck of the bottle with his other hand. 

"I got it. Bitch." 

Sam leaned back in his chair again, still smiling. "Jerk."

The flash of approaching headlights brought Dean back to the present, the image of Sam's beautiful smile fading for the open stretch of road in front of them. Dean straightened the Impala back out in his lane, barely missing the other car. 

Dean cursed quietly, looking over to make sure the sudden jerk didn't wake up Sam. Sam just shifted his head against the window a little, mumbling something in his sleep. Dean waited until he felt Sam's normal breathing routine return, then chanced a glance over at his sleeping brother. In the flashing darkness of the barely lit road, shadows played over Sam's peaceful expression. Dean soaked it in for a moment, thinking that he had no idea how one person could be described with so many words. Sam was somehow cute, hot, and beautiful all in the same day. And now, he was a combination of all three, his adorably childish curled up position, which made his new muscles in his back and arms stand out, a sharp contrast to the delicate features softened by the night.

Dean turned back to the road, trying to shake the idea from his thoughts. He'd always known Sam was attractive, he had to be. After all, Sam was related to Dean. He didn't really have a choice to be ugly. It's just that Dean had forgotten just how captivating his brother was. And he was starting to remember a lot stronger now, and it was getting a lot harder to ignore. He could only push down his thoughts so far before they started seeping back up again. Which was something Dean could absolutely not afford.


	18. Scrutinized (Something Wicked - 01x18)

Dean walked out of the motel lobby room, his expression somewhere between pissed and confused. As Dean bent down behind the car to grab his duffel, Sam reached out an placed a hand on Dean's lower back, gently pressing into Dean's leather jacket.

Dean jumped, his head narrowly missing the top of the trunk. Sam drew his hand back as Dean spun around, his expression just as confused as Dean's.

"Woah, man, you alright?" Sam reached out for Dean's forearm, letting his fingers be a physical reinforcement of his question. Instead of answering him, Dean looked down at Sam's hand. Sam was getting more and more confused by the second. Sam stepped forward, closer to Dean, which finally drew Dean's eyes up to his.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Dean blinked, looking at Sam like he'd been snapped back into reality from a different dimension. He cleared his throat, his eyes darting away from Sam's before shifting back to meet them again hesitantly.

"Nothing. I'm fine." Dean dropped his hand to his side, no longer clutching the strings of the duffel he'd thrown over his shoulder, and dislodged Sam's hand. Yeah, there was no way Sam was going to fall for "fine."

Sam snorted at Dean, hoisting his own bag up further on his shoulder and reaching behind Dean to close the trunk. Dean took a step in the direction of the motel room doors, and Sam followed closely, falling into step a few inches behind his brother.

"Dean, you look like you are either going to pump something full of salt rounds or randomly take a swing at the next thing that moves. I wouldn't call that fine." Sam watched Dean's profile, looking for any sort of clue at what had popped his bubble.

"Probably will," Dean muttered, pulling a key out of his pocket and slipping it inside the door handle.

"What suddenly made you so bitchy and sensitive?" It was a mix between a question and an accusation, but it caught Dean's attention at least. Dean flicked on the lights to the room and turned to Sam, rolling his shoulder and letting his bag fall to the floor first.

"Just some smart-ass kid pushing my buttons, it's not a big deal." Dean stood in front of Sam, eyes raised in a silent dare for Sam to push the topic and see what happens. Sam knew he probably will end up getting chewed out for this, but whatever.

"I push your buttons all the time Dean, and you don't suddenly decide that you flinch with human contact." Dean glared at Sam for that, and turned on his heel to stalk to one of the beds. Sam dropped his bags and followed in pursuit. Dean was acting weird and Sam wasn't going to just let it go. Dean plopped down on the mattress, leaning back against the headboard and propping his feet up, boots and all, on the sheets. Sam perched on the edge of the bed, his hip brushing up against Dean's knee. Dean scrutinized where they were touching for a moment before rolling his head back and groaning in defeat.

"The punk kid at the counter asked two queens, one king, and I said two queens, and then he made some snide little remark like 'I bet' and looked out at you and he just annoyed the hell out of me." Dean looked at Sam like this was a perfectly reasonable explanation for suddenly turning into a haphephobic. But it wasn't, so Sam pushed the topic.

"So you suddenly turn haphephobic because a kid called you gay? It's not like it's the first time you've been called gay, Dean." Dean glared at Sam, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We."

"What?"

" _We_ were called gay." Sam snorted at that.

"I've gotten worse insults than being called your boyfriend, Dean, I'll be fine." Dean's eyes flashed quickly with an emotion Sam wasn't able to pick up. 

Then Dean lowered his gaze and Sam followed. Sam didn't even realize his hand was on Dean's thigh until Dean was staring at it. Sam considered drawing his hand back like before, but that would show Dean just how unintentional the touch had been. Most of the time that Sam touched Dean, or vice versa, it was just an automatic response. They reached for each other, brushed shoulders when they walked, knocked their knees together under small diner tables. It was just a part of their relationship that Sam had never really thought about. Well, tried not to think about.

So instead of drawing back like he was wrong to touch Dean, Sam just curled his fingers in tighter around the denim covering Dean's thigh. Dean's breathing hitched quietly, and Sam froze, definitely not expecting or prepared for that kind of reaction. 

Now Sam pulled his hand away, almost tripping over his feet as he backpedaled off the bed and quickly bent over to pick up his duffel. Sam propped the duffel up onto the bed, his back to Dean as he pretended to rummage through it. Dean's breathing had returned to normal, but Sam still dug through the bag. Finally he pulled out his laptop, taking it over to the table and flipping it open, staring at the screen so he didn't have to see what Dean's green eyes had to say about the awkward moment they just went through. Sam typed _shtriga_ into the search bar, listening for Dean as he repositioned himself on the bed, the creak of the bed springs loud in the silence. 

Sam chanced a glance in Dean's direction, relieved to see Dean had his eyes shut and his arms crossed over his chest, his feet crossed at the ankles as he either feigned sleep or an actual nap. Either way, the awkwardness was over, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief, turning back to his research. Dean could be confusing as hell sometimes, good lord.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Dean. You've been hiding something from the get-go." Dean breathed in a shaky breath at that. Sam was talking about the case, he was talking about the shtriga. Although the tone in Sam's voice had way too many layers in it to be that simple, Dean was going to pretend that's what Sam was talking about. Dean wasn't sure if he could handle it if Sam clarified his question, asked just what the hell was wrong with Dean. 

They both knew that's what the question was for, it was just conveniently timed enough that Dean could ignore it in favor of the case. He was hiding something about the case too, hiding memories he hadn't thought about until he'd seen that handprint on the window. And he'd tell Sam, he really would, it was just. Those memories carried a lot of shame with them, and Dean wasn't that interested in sharing that feeling, to be honest. But he supposed Sam did deserve to know.

And answering Sam's questions about the case would be the only way Dean could avoid the other topic of conversation, the one they'd touched on earlier, just barely seen a icecube worth of ice on the tip top of the iceburg. Dean didn't know how suspicious Sam was, but he had had a kind of wake up call earlier. 

When he followed Michael's gaze out to Sam, his mind had, only for a fleeting moment, kind of wished that he could say "one king." His own thought surprised him, and he turned on Michael with a glare in his eyes. And when he'd gone out to the car, Sam had been all over him, touching him nonstop. But it wasn't until Dean realized that nothing had changed, nothing was out of the ordinary except for his brief thought of what it'd be like to have Sam as a boyfriend instead of a brother, that he finally got it. The way that Sam kept touching him was _normal_ , and that freaked Dean out even more. Because he knew that he probably touched Sam just as often, if not more. 

He couldn't exactly explain any of this to Sam, so Dean just sighed, starting into his story of his memories. Bad memories about Dad were easier to face than treacherous thoughts about Sam.


	19. Scrutiny (Provenance - 01x19)

"Yeah. Maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin." Dean snorted at that.

"Not me." Sam laughed, genuinely sounding surprised. Kid didn't give himself enough credit.

"No, no, no, no, no. Pick-ups are your thing, Dean." Dean looked up and over at Sam, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could really think about them.

"It wasn't my butt she was checking out." Oh ouch. Sam was a smart kid, he could totally put two and two together and figure out that in order to notice where someone's gaze was, you had to follow it with your eyes, and Sam knowing that Dean checked him out did _not_ sound like a good idea. At all. 

But thankfully Sam was still too distracted by the thoughts of the pretty brunette to pick up on the accidental hint Dean had given him. Apparently, this job was the king of accidental hints, because little ones kept popping up everywhere. Most of them probably in Dean's head, but there was one he kind of found impossible to ignore. 

They were back at the motel that night, and Dean was sitting on the bed, feet propped up and hands behind his head. Sam wasn't listening to his wonderful advice, just keep snickering and shaking his head. Dean sat up, scooting forward and trying to portray just how serious he was about this.

"I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you." Sam just brought his hand to his hair, huffing out a half-assed laugh. Dean meant it though. Sam needed someone who could make him happy again, like that, and Sarah could definitely be good for that. She made Sam happy, at least from what Dean saw of her. And that made her good in his book.

"And I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm. I'm sure this is about Jessica, right?" Sam kind of froze at that, his body tensing up at her name. Dean didn't say "Jessica" often, no one did. It felt a little weird to say "Jess," that was a nickname, and what Sam called her. Dean had just met her the once, and he didn't feel like he had the right to call her an endearing nickname like that. So "Jessica" it was.

"Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that...but...I would think that she would want you to be happy." _I did. That was all I wanted when you left me Sam, I wanted you to be happy when you moved on. (Besides wanting you to come back, come back to me.) If Jessica is anything like the kind of girl you deserve, she would think the same thing too, Sammy._

Sam's face had lost all of its earlier humour, his mouth now drawn in a sad and tight line, moisture playing at his bottom lashes. Dean didn't drop the intensity of his gaze, he needed Sam to know how serious he was about this.

"God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?" Sam's mouth tightened in an upside down smile, some memory playing in front of his eyes that Dean couldn't see. Then Sam snapped back to reality, shaking his head slightly and taking a breath.

"Yeah, I know she would." Dean nodded and watched Sam. Sam shook his head and snorted, his mind thinking something about irony. Dean didn't know what, but he knew the look. What in the world was ironic about this conversation?

"Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica." Sam wasn't looking at Dean before, but he turned back to him again now. "But not the main part."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. What else could it be about? It wasn't like Sam had anyone else in mind, and what else would hold you back?

"What's it about?"

Sam just looked at him for a moment before his eyes shifted away under the scrutiny. Sam turned his head, his shifty eyes indicating he couldn't say what. Dean sat up with recognition. Why was Sam so reluctant to tell him something? 

A treacherous pit of hope started building in Dean's stomach, and he tried to push it down. _It's not because of you, you moron. Sam doesn't think of you as anything besides baggage, remember? Why would **you** be a reason for not wanting to hook up? Really Dean, are you that stupid now?_

"Yeah, alright." Dean was answering his own question as well as Sam's refusal. Dean was getting worse at staying detached from Sam emotionally. He'd need to brush up on those skills if he could. Dean flopped himself back down on the bed, resuming his previous, much more comfy position.

"Well we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah. So." Sam nodded, ever the silent and pensive one. It drove Dean insane sometimes, he just wanted to know what was going on in that head of his. Sam didn't ever tell him anything, and Dean felt so far in the dark it might as well be the closet again. Although it wasn't like he was telling Sam much, so it was a two way street. It was just, Dean had actual secrets to hide, and Sam's couldn't possibly be as bad as his. Could they?


	20. Augmenting (Dead Man's Blood - 01x20)

John Winchester knew his sons. He knew Dean inside and out, not like there was exactly much to figure out with his eldest son. But he knew Sam too, knew how stubborn and impossible he was. And John also knew that once Sam got going, _nothing_ , literally nothing, got him to calm down and walk away. 

When Sam swung the Impala around in the middle of the road and marched up to him, already half yelling, John knew the only way this conversation was going to end was with someone taking a swing or Sam getting fed up and leaving, driving straight to California and never looking back. 

"Obviously something big is going down, and we wanna know what!" Dean was standing on John's right, clearly trying to stand as the middle man and smooth things over. Although his judgment of distances must be fairly off, because Dean was standing practically flush to Sam's shoulder, and had a ton of space between John's. If John didn't know better, he'd think Sam wore a gravitational amulet or something. 

"Get back in the car," John knew the order might not go through, but it was his last hope before someone took a swing.

"No."

"I said, get back in the damn car." If this kept going, _John_ was going to be the first to resort to his fists.

"Yeah. And I said no."

The tension was augmenting to palpable and it was merely seconds before one of them broke and drew back a fist.

"Alright, you made your point, tough guy. Look, we're all tired, we can talk about this later." Neither one of them backed down at the sound of Dean's voice. John didn't ever really consider just listening to Dean, Dean never gave an order to _him_. Dean wouldn't dare.

Sam wasn't going to stand down to Dean's voice either, apparently. John knew Sam well enough to know nothing would distract him or take out the dark brown fire in his eyes right now.

Then, out of nowhere, a bewildered and suddenly softened expression came over Sam's face. Sam stepped back a foot, and John saw the cause of the random change.

"Sammy, I'm here. C'mon." Dean had his hands on Sam's jacket, laying one out flat and protective over Sam's heart. The other was bunched up in the fabric, and pushing backwards. Dean's hips were pressed up to Sam's, their bodies connected in a smooth line as Dean hauled him back. Once he was a few steps away, Sam shook himself out of his stubborn stupor and took a step back on his own. Dean quickly shot away from Sam, not looking at John.

John stood frozen, not exactly sure what to think of everything that just happened. He processed things quickly though, quick enough to make him suddenly very wary of the relationship between his boys. If _Sammy I'm here_ wasn't enough proof that something was going on-

Sammy I'm here? As in, Dean being there would have made a difference. As in, Dean was the reason Sam turned away. Dean had somehow broken Sam's stubbornness with a couple of sweet talk words, and with something else that was even more disturbing to John. Sam hadn't really even been hearing Dean's words until Dean's hands were on him. Sam's entire body responded to the touch. It was like Dean's hands were the very thing that ground him to this Earth. Not to mention that neither of them had a problem being that physically close to one another. If anything, they seemed _more_ comfortable when they were practically breathing the same air.

Something was wrong, very very wrong. John had seen it since the moment he'd seen his boys again, but he didn't think it had gotten this far. John thought he might be able to stop it in it's tracks, or just observe it enough to realize that it wasn't what it looked like. Dean looked at Sam like he was a glass of cold water in the hottest desert, but only when he thought John and Sam weren't looking. Sam's eyes followed Dean, and even more importantly, it seems his brain did too. Sam was like a machine, and Dean seemed to be the oil that was keeping it running smoothly. 

It was dangerous, this was all dangerous. It wasn't blatantly obvious enough for a civilian or a friend to notice, only a very trained eye could see the codependency at the stage it was at now. Or a stranger that didn't know they were brothers. John couldn't even imagine how often those two got mistaken for a gay couple. It had to be all the time.

John's analyzation thoughts were interrupted by Sam's mumbling voice.

"This is why I left in the first place."

"Whaddu say?" John tilted his chin up in a challenge. Sam had turned around, and was advancing slowly back towards him now.

"You heard me!"

"Yeah. You left. Your brother and me, we needed you." _Dean needed you. He was a goddamn wreck without you, a cannonball of mindless destruction. You broke my soldier, my son. He was never the same, something snapped in him the night you walked away. Dean is your fault._ "You walked away, Sam. You walked away."

"Stop, if both of-" Neither Sam nor John listen to Dean's words. This wasn't ending again that easy, unless Dean decided to attach his body to Sam's again and drag him out of here.

"You're the one who said don't come back, Dad. You're the one that closed that door, not me! You were just pissed off you couldn't control me anymore!"

"Listen, stop it, stop it, stop it! That's enough!" Dean put his hands on both of their chests, pushing them apart. There was a tangle of hands and leather and pushing, then they were all separated, John standing further away from Sam now and Dean's hands drawing back, one from Sam's wrist and the other from over his heart again. It all happened so fast, John wasn't even sure who had ended up pushing who.

Then Dean shouldered Sam behind him, one hand reaching backwards to apply pressure to Sam's hipbone, keeping him in place. Dean then drew his hand back to his side, squaring off his shoulders to John. In that moment, Dean looked more like a warrior than John had seen in a long time. It was like the broken, wounded Dean had never even been there, and had been replaced with this soldier who only had guarding Sam in mind. 

John was still staring down Sam when Dean's voice interrupted him again.

"Means you, too." John was so surprised by the sudden order of his son, he wasn't sure how to react. Dean had never ordered John to do anything in his life. Not even back in the days that Dean took Sam's side on everything. Dean had yelled at John, punched him, walked out, and disobeyed him all on Sam's behalf. But Dean had never, _never_ , given John an order.

Dean seemed to read that John wasn't responding and obeying the order, and Dean stepped up close, his body large and powerfully standing in between John and Sam. Sam got in the car, and Dean stepped inches away from John's chest, daring him to make a move or say anything more to Sam.

For once, John was actually a little afraid of Dean. Not really scared for himself, Dean couldn't really hurt him, but more scared for anything that ever had to see this side of Dean. There was something dark in Dean's eyes, almost demonic, an absence of humanity that could end up being the death of his son. Dean would do, kill, anything to protect Sam. John knew that much. 

When Sam bent over to get in the car, he brushed against Dean's back. Dean turned his head, checking to make sure Sam was alright. It was like he had to have his eyes on Sam every three seconds, or else he went into a panic or defensive mode.

John took advantage of Sam's temporary distraction and turned away from the bristling Dean. John stomped back to his truck, livid about Sam, worried about Dean, and generally pissed off about the whole situation. 

As if the entire touching affair hadn't been enough, now Dean was giving him orders on Sam's behalf. Dean had taken John's side for almost every argument between the three of them. But when Sam wasn't present in the room, Dean was always on Sam's side. John could never figure out why Dean was only truly loyal when he thought Sam was watching. It was like his heart truly was loyal to Sam, but his mind told him to be loyal to John. John didn't understand his son anymore, any shred of belief he did was gone now. Dean's simplicity had been thrown away the night Sam left for Stanford. 

Even if John had no other reasons to hate Sam for leaving, that single one would be enough.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Don't! I'll break his neck." Sam breathed in a gasp, his hands trying desperately to wrench the vampire's arm off of his neck. Sam saw through the spots at the edge of his vision, he could see Dean's face and the recognition on it. He could practically feel Dean's terrified worry all the way from over here.

"Put down the blade," the vamp ordered. Then the grip tightened on his neck and Sam made a strangled sound, his feet lifting off the ground and more air leaving his lungs. The black spots consumed almost all of his vision now, and the cautious look on Dean's face was slowly slipping into darkness.

Sam gasped in a few more breaths, trying to get any sort of oxygen around the squished state of his esophagus. He heard the metallic clink of Dean's blade hitting the ground.

"You people. You're just like us. You mate for life, and I know this one's yours. I could be blind and still feel the tether between you two." Sam couldn't see Dean's face anymore, although he could hear the vamp's words. He wasn't sure if the words would piss Dean off and make him do something stupid, or just make him go along with the vampire's plan. 

"Why can't you just leave us alone? We have just as much right to live. You, of all people, understand what love and mating for life means. Don't I deserve to live and have that just as much as you do?"

"I don't think so." Sam's body was swung around, then he heard a discharge and felt a slight electric shock run through the arms around his neck, which suddenly went limp. Sam's eyes shot open and he stumbled away from the vampire. He collided with warm, familiar hands, and his panicking body slowed back down to a normal processing speed. Then Dean clapped a hand over Sam's chest, holding him upright and stopping his momentum. The hand on his chest slid to his arm, and Dean held him there, the other hand still planted firmly on Sam's back. 

Dean held on to Sam as the vampire sunk to its knees, flashing and bleeding. The vampire's mate was screaming up a storm, but they were all too focused on the effects of the Colt. Dean's grip finally loosened a little bit once the vampire was dead, face on the concrete. John looked over at them, and Dean's hands slid off of Sam. Dean kept his hand hovering over Sam's hip though, ready to grab him if he should stumble any. 

The vampire's mate-for-life lunged at John, although the other vampire grabbed her arm and hauled her backwards into a car. Dean looked over at Sam, although Sam didn't return his gaze, a little afraid of what he'd see if he turned his head.

Sam didn't know what the vampire was talking about, that whole mate-for-life thing, but that was clearly what Dean was thinking about right now. I mean, they were all watching her scream and then Dean decided to turn to Sam at that exact moment? Maybe Sam was over thinking it, but he didn't feel like he was.

John thankfully didn't mention anything the vampire said. That would've led to a very awkward conversation that Sam was sure he didn't have any of the answers to. He didn't know what the tether was that the vampire could see, and he didn't know why the vampire thought he and Dean were mates. But whatever the reason, no one brought it up. It was one of the very few times that Sam was actually grateful for the Winchester Code of Silence.


	21. Lackadaisical (Salvation - 01x21)

The whole day had been tense. Dean kept finding himself inches away from Sam, or yelling at their dad in Sam's behalf. It was odd, but Dean didn't hesitate. There had been a time in Dean's life that his Dad's opinion had come first, but as much as he respected the man, Sam was still his partner. And John couldn't just belittle Sam and toss him aside, yell at them for not telling him about the psychic stuff. Dean wasn't going to stand for it. And Sam was doing everything in his power not to fight with the man, per Dean's request, so it was up to Dean to protect Sam. He never thought the day would come when Sam needed to be stood up for against their dad, but stranger things had happened. Dean was careful not to push too hard though, especially considering what had happened earlier.

Back before they'd made it to this town, Sam had been loading up the Impala to go on their drive to the demon omens, and John had pulled Dean aside.

"Dean? Can I speak to you for a moment?"

Dean followed John cautiously out back. John stopped about ten feet away from the cabin, turning to Dean and crossing his arms in his most intimidating military stance.

"Is there something you need to tell me?"

Dean cocked his head curiously. What the hell was this about?

"No sir, not that I'm aware of."

"Well son, you've got me a bit worried. You and Sam both. You sure you know what you're doin?"

"I'm not following, sir."

"Just, make sure you don't cross any boundaries, alright, Dean? I know you two are close, but he is still your brother after all."

Dean drew back and took a step behind him. Was this conversation actually happening right now?

"Is this about what the vamp said, sir, because you know how monsters-"

"No, son. This is about the way you look at your brother. I don't want to see it again, you hear me? And you can have a conversation with him just fine from across the room, you don't need to be cuddled up at his side every moment. And leave your damn hands to yourself. You don't need to be confusing your little brother with your constant touching. You hear me Dean?"

Dean couldn't say anything, couldn't respond to that. He didn't have words enough to refute it, at least nothing his father would believe. Besides, arguing would lead into a deeper analysis of everything that was happening between him and Sam. And Dean was going to avoid that at all costs.

He managed to swallow and nod tightly. 

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now get inside and help your brother pack up."

Dean's head had been swirling ever since, and he had to make a conscious effort to put a couple of feet between him and Sam when he could remember to. Dean was worried when they split up from their dad, he really was. It was a tiny bit of relief though, that he could get his head back to focusing on important things, not things like "how far away is appropriate to stand from my brother." Dean had bigger fish to fry right now, and he could worry about Sam's gravitational pull later. The second John had left, they fell back into their routine. It worked, and it was safer this way. If Dean wasn't right next to Sam, how was he supposed to shield him from danger? Exactly. He couldn't.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean couldn't get the image out of his head, of the flash of determination in Sam's eyes as he lunged towards the house. 

"It's still in there."

"Sam, no!" Dean grabbed ahold of Sam, wrapping his arms around the taller man's torso and hauling him backwards. Sam's hand automatically wrapped around to Dean's back, actually making it easier for Dean to keep his grip on Sam. One of Dean's hands had grabbed onto Sam's jacket, and the material was bunched up in his fist, aiding him in shoving Sam away from the burning house.

"Dean, lemme go, it's still in there!"

"Burning to the ground, it's suicide!" Dean shoved Sam in front of him, making Sam look him in the eyes. Dean didn't release his grip on Sam's jacket, still keeping ahold of his brother firmly.

"I don't care!" Sam lunged again but Dean caught him, already anticipating and ready. He shoved him forward again, holding him in place so he had to look Dean in the eyes.

"I do!"

Sam didn't look at him, didn't see the truth and the exposure behind that _I do_. Didn't see how honest Dean was, how much he cared. Sam only had eyes for the demon, standing in the flames of that house. 

Now that they were back in the hotel room, Dean couldn't top thinking about it. And Sam was still set in his retarded suicidal ways.

"Sam, I wanna waste it, I do. But it's not worth _dyin_ over." Dean's eyes searched Sam's face for some kind of recognition or agreement. There wasn't any.

"What?"

"I mean it. If huntin this demon means you gettin yourself killed, then I hope we _never_ find the damn thing." Sam just looked down at him, his normally bright hazel eyes grayed and watery.

"That thing killed Jess." Dean didn't mean to look unsympathetic, but he really didn't give a damn about the pretty blonde when it came down to Sam's life. A girlfriend you had for a couple of years was not worth dying over. And Sam must have seen that in Dean's lackadaisical expression, because he continued on with a different attempt to get Dean to care.

"That thing killed mom." Dean just stared at Sam.

"You said yourself once. That no matter what we do, they're gone. And they're never coming back." Dean saw the fury, he did, he just hadn't been able to anticipate being picked up and hauled halfway across the room and slammed into the wall. Sam lifted him and had him flat against the wall in a matter of seconds, knocking him back hard enough to knock his breath out for just a moment. Dean was a little shocked, but his head was still in the mentality of "nothing else in the entire world matters if it means Sam has to die." 

"Don't you say that, not you!" Not him? Not him? Did Dean hold some sort of special place in Sam's mind that made his words more valuable than everyone else? The thought was shaken away quickly though, only fleeting before it was replaced with the realization of how close Sam's face was to his right now. Sam's hands still made rough knots in Dean's jacket, holding him up against the wall like Dean weighed nothing.

"Not after all this, don't you say that." Dean stared at Sam, his eyes unable to keep themselves from opening up, his emotions flooding through the green.

Dean's lip trembled as he fought to keep it together, to not break down all in this moment right now. Because if Dean broke down, not only would he probably end up telling Sam everything, who knows what else might happen when Sam's face was _right. there._

He looked back and forth across Sam's face, trying to get any sort of read on the situation. Dean normally had the upperhand in their fights, at least in their arguments, but right now Sam was in total control. Dean was helpless, pinned, and entirely at the waste of Sam's disposal. Instead of fighting back, or raising his voice, Dean sunk into submission. His words were quiet, calm, trying to calm down Sam while still letting Sam know he was in control. 

"Sammy, look." Dean realized that he was the same height as Sam right now. Sam was normally a bit taller than him, but with Dean hauled up and pressed against the wall, his face was even to Sam's right now. Dean wasn't sure if Sam had done that on purpose, but it was making this even harder than it already was. If Dean just leaned forward a bit, his lips would be pressed against Sam's. It was killing Dean, being so close and feeling so very far away.

Dean took in a breath and dipped his head down, looking to the side briefly to remind him that there was still another world, more to life than just the tall beautiful boy crowding his vision.

"The three of us. That's all we have." Dean's voice started choking up with threats of tears, and he swallowed them down, fighting it desperately. Sam fought in a breath, his eyes threatening to overflow any second. Dean kept his eyes on Sam, starting to tremble a little.

"It's all I have." It was a confession Dean hadn't even wanted to admit to himself, but now he'd said it. And he realized just how true it was. Dean had nothing besides his Dad and Sam. That was his everything.

Sam looked down for a moment, trying to reason with himself.

Now that it was out, Dean might as well spill some more.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man." The words soaked in and Sam breathed out, his head dipping down. 

His hands were still fisting Dean's jacket, although the grip was a lot less aggressive now. Dean's head followed Sam, their eyes locking as Dean brought his head up, Sam's mirroring his automatically. They stared at each other for a moment, then Sam was leaning forwards, his face already dangerously closed to Dean's. Dean followed him for a brief second, his eyes locked on Sam's lips. The heat between them was palpable, and it felt like a cliff, both of them teetering on the edge. Dean was about to kill the tension, close the space between them, before his brain kicked in and he managed to backpedal as quickly as he could. 

Dean quickly dodged Sam, turning his head to the side and quickly speaking, praying that breaking the silence would break the tension as well.

"Without you and Dad..." Something flashed in Sam's eyes and he dropped his head back down, lifting one of his hands off of Dean's chest briefly before it returned, no longer gripped his jacket and just resting on his chest instead. Sam patted Dean's heart, his other hand still tangled in Dean's collar. Then he pushed himself off of Dean, instantly striding across the room and putting a couple of feet between them.

"Dad." Sam had turned away and was trying to clear his head, step away from the cliff they almost just jumped off of. Sam had his fingers pressing the corners of his eyes, like when he had a headache and was trying to clear it away.

Dean leaned back against the wall, swallowing and trying to get his breathing back to normal. He'd almost just kissed Sam. Sam had almost just kissed him. Dean's eyes were caught on nothing, just staring forward and breathing in, feeling like he hadn't had oxygen in months. Trying to forget everything that had almost just happened. 

Sam turned back to Dean, their eyes meeting for only a moment before Sam looked down a little bit, not quite meeting Dean's eyes. Dean was still trembling, and leaned back against the wall for support. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this shaken up. Dean was so afraid Sam had seen something in his eyes, in that moment. What if he hadn't been able to hide his love for Sam. What if all of the pain and the memories and the longing had all been trapped in one emotion, bleeding through his irises for Sam to see. He had tried, tried to hide it. But Dean was so sure he hadn't been able to.


	22. Swarming (Devil's Trap - 01x22)

"I wanna know why. Why'd you do it?" Sam had to get the demon off of Dean, Dean looked like he was going through hell over there, the demon talking him up and destroying his insides with just a couple of words. The distraction worked, or at least it looked like it did. The demon turned around, leaving Dean be for a moment.

"You mean why'd I'd kill mommy and pretty little Jess?" Sam hated that thing more than everything in this world. He was fairly sure he'd never like the color yellow again.

"Yeah." The demon turned back away again, up in Dean's face. Sam would draw him out though, get him to come over here. He had to. Dean wasn't strong enough to face the brutal words that kept spilling out of this thing's mouth.

"You know he never told you this, but Sammy was gonna ask her to marry him."

Dean stared at the demon, his eyes wide and broken. Sam looked at both of them curiously, trying to pick up on the hidden part of the conversation he was missing. Sam wasn't sure why this was part of the demon's tactic. Dean shouldn't care, right? Brothers didn't care about their siblings getting married. It wasn't like Dean would be jealous or anything. Well, right? 

"Been shopping for rings and everything." Dean looked like he had just been hit with a bus. For some reason, that hit home more than everything the demon had said so far. The demon wanted to rub it in, too, turning to the side and stalking up to Sam, making Sam see how much pain he was causing Dean, while twisting the knife in Sam's chest of his beautiful dead girlfriend.

But how did the demon know that mentioning his plans to marry Jess would upset Dean? Why did it upset Dean? What did this demon know that Sam didn't? 

Was Dean actually jealous? The pain in his eyes was very real, and Sam would run the expression on Dean's face over and over again in his head, trying to decipher what looked like jealousy to him. But why? Why would Dean be jealous? 

Did Dean have those same fleeting thoughts that Sam did? That same rush everytime their bare skin touched? Did Dean actually feel something more for Sam than Sam knew? Did Sam feel something more for Dean?

Then all of Sam's thoughts were brushed away as the demon finally said something that sparked him back into reality.

"My plans for you Sammy. And for all the children like you." It was the first clue he had to what the hell was going on, and Sam put Dean's expression on a back burner for now. He'd come back and revisit later, but not when he had a chance of figuring out what was wrong with him. He had to it figure out.

But he didn't forget what the demon said to Dean, and he didn't forget the look on Dean's face as he lay bleeding on the floor, begging Sam not to shoot their father. 

"Sammy." The word brought Sam home, to reality and sense. He also knew Dean would never forgive him if he shot John. Never. Sam flashed back to earlier, right before he slammed Dean up against the wall. What Dean had said to him. _If finding this demon means you getting yourself killed, I hope we never find the damn thing._ Sam wanted to kill the demon more than everything else he wanted in this world, but somehow he didn't. Apparently there was something that mattered more to him, more to him than Jess's death and their mother's death and the horrible way they were raised that had turned Sam into the freak he was. That could all be over if he just pulled the trigger, but he couldn't. Dean mattered more. Somehow, in the heat of the moment, Sam's brain managed to decide for itself what was most important. And turns out that thing was Dean.

Sam figured Dean knew that now, but he had the courage to remind him later, the long stretch of highway between them and the hospital gazing out ahead. 

"Sammy, I thought we saw eye to eye on this thing. Killing this demon comes before everything."

"No sir, not everything." Sam looked up, meeting Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. Sam's everything that came first was Dean, and Dean had begged him not to. Dean came first, Dean came before this demon. Sam hadn't even known that until he'd been standing over his struggling father, the colt in hand and Dean hasping out Sam's name behind him. But in that moment he knew, and he wanted Dean to know too. Dean was the only exception, the one thing that came over everything for Sam.

Sam didn't notice the look from his father, didn't notice the judgemental stare. Didn't see his father's disappointment swarming in his eyes, and even if he had, he wouldn't have known the real reason why. John had seen Sam look at Dean just now, and he understood what had happened. Sam had a weakness now, they both did. Those boys would end up being the death of each other if they didn't draw back, stop being more than just brothers. Close was fine, but not when close meant putting each other over everything else in the universe.

John didn't know exactly when it would happen, but he knew it would. His boys would end up destroying each other, and maybe bringing down the world with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me for writing "heat of the moment" in there. Actually, go ahead. I laughed doe. So.
> 
> Annddd there is a tumblr blog where you can follow and get the updates of Stumbling on your dashboard, as well as videos and gifs and pictures and edits and yay! xx
> 
> http://flybynightgirl.tumblr.com/


	23. Agonizingly (In My Time of Dying - 02x01)

"We have a pulse. We're back into sinus rhythm." Sam breathed out, unaware he'd even been holding his breath. He just stared at Dean's body for a moment, shock still shaking his core. He'd been so sure, he could've sworn he'd heard Dean's voice. 

_Get back!_ Loud and clear, like he had been standing next to Sam. Even now, as Sam soaked in the fact that Dean had nearly just died, he had this itch in his bones. This feeling that Dean wasn't just lying in his hospital bed, that he was somehow right at Sam's side. It may have seemed foolish, but Sam turned his head regardless. He half expected to see Dean in the hallway, a perfect double of the Dean in the hospital room. He didn't know why, or how, but Sam just had this unshakable feeling. 

Sam hadn't ever really been able to sense ghosts before. The best thing Sam ever had were his premonitions, and some twists in his gut. Like in Lawrence, when they had cleared a poltergeist out of their old house, Sam had a feeling something was wrong still. It had turned out to be the ghost of their mother, but Sam had had no idea until she was standing in front of them. This though, this was different. Sam had heard Dean's voice in his head, could feel his gravity being pulled towards a certain direction although Dean's spirit was there. It was quite an experience, and Sam had no idea why he could suddenly just sense ghosts. Although, to be honest, somewhere in his head he knew he still couldn't. Odds are, Sam couldn't sense ghosts. Sam could just sense _Dean._ Apparently even the spirit world didn't have a strong enough barrier to keep them apart.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam wasn't sure if Ouija boards even were legit, but he was down to the last straw here, and he needed anything that could get him in touch with Dean. Anything. 

"Dean, are you here?" Sam had his fingers on his tip of the triangle, waiting patiently. It was probably about twenty seconds before he felt a slight tug on the triangle. Sam loosed up his press on the wood, and watched, mouth gaping, as the triangle slid across the board. _Yes._

Sam was in a stupor with surprise and relief. He couldn't believe this actually worked. He wasn't extremely surprised, probably less surprised than Dean's spirit was. Sam had felt his tether, the gravity that he always felt, the one that had saved his life during a hundred hunts, because he knew where Dean was, how to move out of fire of Dean's gun, how to get Dean's back, and fight alongside his brother, that gravity was tugging him forward slightly, as though Dean was sitting across from the board. The pull wasn't nearly as strong as when Dean was actually in the flesh, but it was still a familiar compass that Sam knew how to tap into.

"It's good to hear from you, man. It hasn't been the same without you, Dean." Part of Sam wanted to tell Dean everything, tell him how hard it was to see Dean broken, how lost and incomplete Sam felt without his brother by his side. Wanted to tell Dean so many things, things he'd never gotten a chance to say while Dean was alive. 

Earlier, before Sam knew Dean's spirit was around, Sam had been sitting at Dean's bedside. He sat for a while, just studying Dean's features, engraving them into his mind. The long sweep of eyelashes against his smooth cheekbones, his perfect lips that had been pushed apart by the ugly tube running into his mouth. The soft curve of his hairline that morphed into his adorable pointed spikes. After a little while, Sam hadn't been able to take just sitting anymore. He scooted closer, reaching his hands up to wrap around one of Dean's. Dean's hands were scarily cold, and if it weren't for the faint pulse Sam could feel beneath his fingertips, he'd be calling in a doctor, worried out of his mind. Sam had tangled up his fingers in between Dean's unresponsive ones, feeling pathetic as he weakly held onto what was left of his broken brother. 

"Dean-" Sam had started, but he couldn't seem to manage out any other words around the tightness of his throat. He swallowed thickly and blinked a few times, willing the tears at bay, just because they stung his cuts so badly it would blur his vision. And Sam didn't want to spend a moment he didn't have to without seeing Dean as clearly as possible. Just that thought was enough to kill him, though, and Sam tightened his grip on Dean's hand.

"Dean." Sam said again, choking on the word a bit. 

It was there, under those scarily bright hospital lights, that Sam finally realized just how much he needed Dean next to him. For the first time since he was a kid, Sam felt helpless. His brother was dying and there was nothing he could do. Sam tried, and couldn't picture a life without Dean in it now. Even when he'd gone to Stanford, Dean was still a phone call away, never further than a few days drive separating them. And now that Jess was gone, Sam _needed_ Dean. Dean was the only significant person left in Sam's life, and Sam wasn't sure what could become of his life if Dean died. He had no idea he needed Dean this badly, not until Dean was slipping through his fingers. Permanently. 

Sam wanted to tell Dean, wanted to say, "I need you Dean. I can't live without you." He wanted to tell Dean about how he had held his hand, ran his fingers through Dean's hair. Wanted to tell Dean how badly he wanted to curl up next to him in his hospital bed. How badly he wanted Dean to wake up, to say "Sammy" one last time. Sam couldn't make it if he didn't hear it again. He had to. He needed to.

Sam opened his mouth to start, to say something brave for the first time, but the dark wooden triangle in his hand started moving. Sam looked down, watched the piece drift across the board under his fingers. 

"What is it, Dean?" Sam asked automatically, staring at the wood beneath his fingertips. He could suddenly picture Dean, sitting crosslegged across from him, his strong hands gently pushing Sam's along. Dean hands, which were only centimeters away from Sam's.

Without thinking, Sam lifted his fingers and placed them over the imaginary one's he'd pictured belonging to Dean. The triangle froze in place, and Sam realized with a start what exactly he was doing. Maybe he'd imagined it, but he thought he could feel Dean, just for a moment, before his fingers just fell and dropped to the wood on Dean's side of the triangle. Sam stared at his hands, at the triangle that was no longer moving. Shit, he'd totally pushed it too far. He hadn't meant to, it was just. Dean.

Sam wasn't sure if the triangle froze because Dean freaked out and stopped pushing, or if Sam was now pressing his fingers to the wrong side, Dean's side. Either way, Sam quickly snatched his hands back, putting them on the proper side again.

"Sorry," Sam muttered. He considered explaining himself but decided better of it. After a couple of agonizingly long seconds, the triangle moved again, slowly. Sam watched patiently as Dean spelled out a word, doing everything he could to pay attention, listen. Dean needed him right now, and that always came before Sam's own feelings of whatever the hell he was feeling. They could sort this out after Dean woke up.

When Dean woke up. When. Not if


	24. Avenging (Everybody Loves a Clown - 02x02)

"Sam!! I need a little help in here!" Ellen heard the shout, and she nudged the tall grungy boy towards the door. 

"Sorry Dean, I can't right now, I'm a little tied up." The "Sam's" oversized body seemed to relax to instant his eyes were on the other man. They looked at each other, the "Dean one" cupping his face, a bit of blood seeping through his fingers. 

Ellen's first thought was _gay hunters? really? that's not something you see every day_. If they were a couple, which they clearly were, Ellen probably would have heard rumours about them over some wrung out Bob's beer. Couple hunters normally went just by the last name, like the Smiths. So Sam and Dean...Sam and Dean. Wait. Sam and Dean Winchester? 

The words were out of Ellen's mouth before she even had time to process them. Dean, the one cupping his bloody nose, spoke, his voice gravely and low.

"Yeah?" Ellen froze. Sam and Dean Winchester weren't a couple. They were brothers.

"Son of a bitch." Ellen had heard rumours about these two. Plenty of rumours.

"Mom, you know these guys?" Jo still had her gun pointed at Dean.

"Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys." John Winchester's boys. They had been a topic of discussion for at least a decade, probably a decade and a half. Ever since the hunting community found out about them, found out about their story. Two little boys, being raised by a damn good hunter, obsessed with avenging their mother's death. At first the rumours had been harmless enough. Everyone that met the two when they were younger had plenty to say about them, about what a team they were. How they looked out for each other. People specifically made a point to comment on the older one, how he had the look of a killer in his eye since the time he was eleven. But only when it came to his little brother. Everyone knew the Winchester brothers were going to amount to something one day. Then eventually, the rumours started to shift a bit. A lot of hunters mistook them for a runaway teen couple. The first time a hunter had asked them if they were in a relationship, he'd come to the Roadhouse with one hell of a bloody nose and a black eye to match. That had been quite a story, a forty-something hunter being beaten up by a seventeen year old. But the rumours still got around, and started to turn into hushed whispers. Brothers that didn't act like brothers at all, more like lovers.

Then, probably five or six years back, the word was that the younger Winchester boy left the house, left the gig. Left his other half that was always mentioned in the stories. Then word got around in the next couple months, of this twenty-something killer, going on sprees and knocking out nearly a hundred hauntings in a deadly crazy fashion. Then Ellen had connected the two, how the older Winchester had gone crazy after the younger one left the nest. She hadn't heard word about them since then, but they clearly were back together again. And Ellen could see why the rumours had started, too. They looked at each other with this crazy passion and fear for one another. And whenever one turned away, the other was staring. It was like they were tethered too, like there was constantly a string between them, pulling them closer. Ellen had seen a lot in her day, but this was a unique one. 

She pulled her gun away from Sam's head, not missing the way Dean's shoulders visibly relaxed. She let out a laugh, mostly surprise, but a bit of amusement as well.

"I'm Ellen. And that's my daughter Jo."

Dean let out some snarky comment, but it lost all of it heat when he turned his head away before he barely even finished the sentence. Dean took a step forward, but Sam had already crossed the distance between them, quickly scanning Dean's face. Sam's fingers were resting gently on Dean's arm, just brushing the skin as he looked over Dean for injuries. Sam gave a quick nod, and they both turned, Dean's shoulder brushing Sam's. Sam moved to go sit on a stool. and Dean's hand ghosted the small of Sam's back, not actually touching the skin, but just above it. It seemed automatic, and Dean didn't seem to notice it as he took his own seat. They looked at each other and deliberately sat a little farther away than looked comfortable. It was an awkward distance for anyone, and seemed highly intentional. Well, if they didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea, how close they sat was definitely the least of their worries.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They were talking the case, and the tension between them was slowly fading. Dean had meant every word about what he said earlier, but the heat of it was kind of fading. Sam always had managed to be able to use a case to calm himself back down. 

It was just Sam, Dean, and the road in front of them. The only slightly off part was that it was their feet guiding them, not Baby's smooth wheels. It was a lot slower going this way, but Dean found he didn't mind too much. It gave them more time to talk, and Sam's shoulder was a lot closer to his than normal. It was a wide road, big enough for two cars, and plenty big for them to have as much room in between them as they needed. At the very least, they could walk a foot apart, just for comfort, so that Dean's bag didn't swing into Sam's hip, and Sam's shoulder didn't press up against Dean's every other step. But for some reason, they walked about an inch apart, touching frequently. The more Sam forgave him, the less he tried to stop his arm from swinging into Dean's. 

By the time they got a weapon and a method and a suspect down, Sam was back to smiling. 

"Such a stickler for details, Sammy." Sam looked down and smiled, his grin lighting up the entire world about three notches brighter. Dean couldn't help it, he couldn't keep his emotions of his face when Sam got like that. It was almost a good thing that Sam was looking down in that moment, because if he had looked over at Dean instead, Dean wasn't sure if he would be able to hide the love in his eyes. 

Sam fell half a step behind Dean after that, their normal walking pattern re-evolving as they got closer to the circus. Dean realized that his hand was swinging down, dangerously close to Sam's. He hadn't noticed it until Sam's hand had left his jeans pocket, and brushed up against the back of his. The tingle that went through Dean's body at that was more than a little ridiculous. Dean felt this really odd tension in his hand the longer he kept it swinging next to Sam's. After a while of just thinking about that, he lifted it away from his side. Dean wasn't sure what he could really do with his hand, but he grabbed onto the strings of the bag he was holding, pretending to readjust it. Anything to get rid of that goddamn tension.


	25. Embonpoint (Bloodlust - 02x03)

Dean was propped up on the edge of the bed, untying his laces and barely humming something Zeppelin. It wasn't his happy, cheerful humming, more like his very-distracted humming. Sam reached into his duffel and grabbed a washcloth, making for the tiny bathroom. He wet the cloth in cold water, wanting to save the warm for the shower. Wringing out the cloth pulled at the gash on his arm, which caused a grimace that Sam quickly wiped off before making his way back into the bedroom.

He crossed the room in five strides, cupping one hand under Dean's jaw and lifting his face up, bringing the washcloth to Dean's left eye. Dean didn't seem to register what was going on until the damp coldness touched his wound.

"Ow! Dude, what the hell?" Dean tried to jerk his head back, but Sam had a solid hand cupping his face. 

"Just let me fix you up, okay? And try not to break your face next time, arms are a lot easier to heal." Dean grumbled something about Sam just wanting him to stay pretty, but Sam ignored him and slightly moved the washcloth, dabbing away bits of blood and wood. "What did you fight with, a table?"

"Chair," Dean huffed, his eyes flickering restlessly from Sam to the clasped hands in his lap. Sam gently tilted Dean's head to the side and circled around Dean to sit on Dean's left, the creaky motel mattress creaking underneath the additional weight. They were face to face now, and Sam suddenly had to turn all of his attention to cleaning and soothing Dean's left cheekbone. (Which was definitely not one of Sam's favorite parts of Dean, Sam had never noticed Dean's cheekbones. Of course not.) 

Dean cleared his throat, and Sam's eyes betrayed him, leaving their post to lock eyes with Dean. Their faces were only a foot away, which felt like miles, and centimeters, all at the same time. Their bodies were tilted towards each other, Sam's knee pressed up against the side of Dean's thigh. Dean eyes were stupid green, a colour Sam could swear he had seen on some magnificent tree in the summer. Sam had known his entire life that his brother was beautiful, but little moments where Dean was still enough and close enough to actually appreciate it were rare. Sam's left forearm was braced against Dean's clavical, and the thumb on his opposite hand occasionally brushed against Dean's skin as he gently dabbed the washcloth over the pink skin. His body felt flushed and hot everywhere it met up against his brother's. Sam was suddenly hyper aware of his left hand, which was still cupping Dean's jaw. Like how Sam would hold him if he were to kiss Dean. Without his permission, or any sort of conscious thought, Sam's eyes flicked down to Dean's lips. Pink and embonpoint and parted ever so slightly, with a tinge of moisture on the inside of his bottom lip. 

The sound of a car horn blaring outside on the passing freeway snapped Sam back into reality. The reality where he was staring at his brother's lips. 

Sam pulled his hands away from Dean like Dean was suddenly made of fire, and that's a bit what it felt like, too. Sam's hand was burning, and even the washcloth seemed abnormally warm in his grasp. Sam was on his feet and halfway to the bathroom before he realized he was even upright, but he let his feet take him to the sink, turning on the water full blast. Sam had no idea what just happened, or what Dean was thinking right now, and honestly it felt like a bad time to analyze either. Sam washed the washcloth on automatic mode, wringing it out (wincing again) and draping it over the edge of the sink. The whole, "splash water on your face for clarity and the world suddenly is easier to face" was Dean's thing, but Sam needed any sort of help he could get right now. The cold water felt kind of good as it ran over his flushed skin, and the sound of the tap could block out his whirling mind. After a few splashes though, Sam turned off the faucet and reached for a hand towel, patting his face dry before facing himself in the mirror. His teenage-girl-blush had faded quite a bit, enough that Sam figured he'd be fine to face Dean. 

Sam cautiously made his way back into the bedroom, and Dean was exactly where Sam had left him. Sam gnawed at his lip, watching Dean watching him. Sam stood for what felt like a few hours, but was probably only about forty five seconds.

"So, uh. I'm gonna go to bed. You should too, so you skin can regenerate and...yeah. Okay." Sam kind of ducked his head, hardly able to believe how awkward his words had just ended up. _Smooth_. Dean looked at him for another moment before he finally looked back down at his hands again. They both froze like that for another ten seconds, then Dean lifted his head and carded a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, okay, I'm beat." Sam nodded, the tension leaving his shoulders as he sighed, making his way over to the bed across from Dean's. Sam stripped on the way there, his tshirt getting tossed over his head, and stepping out of his dirty jeans. His sweat pants were thankfully the top item in his duffel, so Sam was dressed and in bed in a few minutes. Dean was laying down on the opposite bed, still covered in jeans and both of his shirts. It was either laziness, or the pain of his injuries, that would make for a very uncomfortable fully clothed night. Sam knew he should help Dean out of his clothes, or at least say something, but he was afraid of what else he might say.

So he shut his eyes tight and kept his mouth shut, figuring tomorrow would be a slow day anyways, because Sam certainly wasn't going to be getting any sleep either.


	26. Ludicrous (Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things - 02x04)

"You wanna take another swing? Go ahead. If it'll make you feel better." Sam's eyes were all puppy and sugar-coated and so stocked full of sympathy and moisture that Dean almost took him up on that offer.

"I don't need this crap." Dean couldn't take it anymore. Sam was so goddamn _concerned_ about him it was ridiculous. It had gone from Sam not even looking at him a week ago, to Sam suddenly diving his nose into every emotional corner of Dean's brain. Dean wasn't sure if he hated this or the ludicrous silence he'd gotten last week.

The silence had come after his fight with Gordon. That night, he'd been sitting on his bed, untying his boots and innocently minding his own business when Sam had come over, sitting down beside him with a washcloth in hand. Dean had tried protesting, he wasn't 5 after all, but Sam insisted he help out Dean's face. Honestly, the cold washcloth felt pretty good, and getting the debris out of the wound was always a good idea. Then suddenly Sam's eyes had frozen on his, and Dean had stared at Sam, at his beautiful brother. He didn't bother denying the fact that Sam was beautiful now, Dean had gotten over that. Sam's face had come so close to his, and suddenly Dean had felt this palpable tension, had noticed the exact distance between his and Sam's lips. A look had crossed over Sam's face, one Dean's hadn't seen before, but was most closely related to horror. Then Sam had bolted, spending way too long in the bathroom before he came out, his hairline and bangs slightly damp and curling, like he had been splashing water on his face. Dean hadn't said anything, hadn't moved. Then Sam had said some lame excuse of some sort and Dean decided he'd just go to sleep. No point in overthinking it, hopefully everything would be better in the morning. 

But it hadn't been. Dean had woken up the next day to a silent and reserved Sam. Now that Dean was fully conscious, he spent half the day going over the ten minutes of mistake the night before. What exactly had that face meant? Had Sam seen into Dean's eyes, seen secrets there that Dean had been hiding? Did Sam finally have an idea of how Dean was in turmoil about him? Had Sam finally found sufficient answers to the questions he'd been asking? Dean had spent the next few days analyzing Sam and worried out of his mind. Then he decided that being worried equivalated to being weak, so he hardened his stature and closed himself off. He was already burying a ton of feelings right now, might as well bury all of these too. Then the silent treatment had slowly switched, Dean avoiding Sam now, Dean on edge. And Sam had noticed, so he'd quickly fallen back into talking too much, trying to analyze Dean out. But Dean was set on not sharing these feelings any time soon. Or later. Or ever.

So that was another reason why Dean couldn't stand Sam's puppy-eyes interrogation. He said he was just trying to help Dean, Dean had been acting odd. But Dean couldn't take all of this, their Mom's grave, Dad, and his repressed feelings for Sam he didn't have a label or understanding for, all at once. Especially when a third of the reason was standing _right there_.

Dean turned around and took the two steps to the TV, grabbing Baby's keys. He stalked past Sam, past the synpathetic look that didn't know anything.

"Dean, where are you going?" Sam's voice was hurt and worried.

"I'm gonna go get a drink." Dean turned around, looking up at his brother. "Alone."

Sam's eyebrows were knotted in upside down triangles, his worried expression. Dean looked at him for a moment, both of them just maintaining eye contact, Then Dean was out the door.

He needed out, needed away from Sam. The bottom of the glass was the only thing that held any sort of answers for him, so Dean was going to find a lot. Because Sam's face, inches away, Sam's lips parted and so close, they all faded away when all Dean saw was a bartender and another glass of whiskey. Or at least, half the time. The other half, when Dean had too much, then it was the only thing he could think about. There was a big part of him that worried he'd overdrink one night and stumle back into the motel room, place his lips on Sam's before he could sober up enough to have a brain. So as much as Dean drank, he didn't get drunk. It was too risky. Being around Sam was too risky. 

Although, there was one thing that could get his mind off of his brother even easier. And it was much safer, it had no risks of accidentally making out with Sam in the aftermath. Dean could go hunting. That's what he'd do. He'd go work the case. Then Sam would be off of his mind and he'd be fine.

Maybe.


	27. Exigent (Simon Said - 02x05)

"And even as I waander, Iii'm keeping you in sight." Sam raised his eyebrows. Dean was singing, which wasn't extremely rare, but it'd been a while, and the radio wasn't on. He was singing...wait. That was REO Speedwagon. _Can't Fight This Feeling._ Why was Dean singing-

"You're a candle in the window on a coold dark winter's niiigghhtt." It was just Sam, and Dean, alone. And Dean was singing Can't Fight This Feeling. And shooting discreet sideglances at Sam. This wasn't happening. This was not real. There was no way, no way that this was even possible. Dean wasn't fighting any feelings, certainly not for Sam, how could he be? Sam was his _brother_. Just his twisted little brother that had accidentally almost kissed him once.

"And I'm gettin closeer" Sam looked over at Dean, looking to see if it was actually him. Okay, so it was happening. It didn't mean anything, right? How could it? There had to be a reasonable explanation for this. Sam was half afraid Dean would get to the chorus and just pull over the car, face Sam, and sing the rest of the song. Sam seriously had to stop it before that.

"Than Iiii ever thought" That was it. It was a joke. It had to be. Dean must be pranking him.

"I miigghtt-" Hurry, say something before the chorus. It's a joke, right? Check to make sure it's a joke.

"You're kidding, right?" Sam didn't preface with anything, just turned to Dean and said it outright. He had no idea what to do if Dean said no, he wasn't kidding. Sam was so not ready for this conversation. He had no idea how he even felt about it.

Dean turned to look at Sam, sizing up Sam's reaction to his song. Dean must have seen the confused, half terrified look on Sam's face, because his own face kind of sunk and he turned away pretty quickly. His eyes were shifty, the way they were when Dean was lying or hiding something. Oh dear.

But Dean neither confirmed nor denied if he was kidding. This was a problem.

"I heard the song somewhere and I can't get it out of my head, I don't know man. What do you got?"

Dean just treated Sam's question like he was asking about singing in general. That was definitely not what Sam meant. After all, Dean sang a lot. Like every time Fire Of Unknown Origin came on. The irony of that song never ceased to astound Sam. 

So Dean avoided answering the question at all. But at least Sam avoided whatever was coming at the chorus. Now that Dean had changed the topic on him, Sam snapped back into reality and opened his case files. Work. Work was a good distraction, and exactly what they needed. Work work work.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean hadn't been this terrified in a long time. Dean didn't really get that terrified. But when you have exigent secrets to hide, of course a guy who can make you spill every little one with a word is gonna freak you out. Not to mention he'd lost his freakin _car_ once today. 

Now that Andy was a backseat guest, Dean wasn't quite as worried. Andy clearly only had good intentions, or at least that's what it looked like. He was mostly afraid of an accidental question, maybe just a casual, "So you guys are really close, why is that?" Dean was afraid his mouth would be forced to say "Oh, nothing really, I just secretly have feelings for Sam that include me wanting to kiss him and hold him as he falls asleep." Yeah, life = ruined.

They were on the way back to the Impala from finding the case files on Andy's twin when Andy grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him to the side. Dean startled at first, but managed to control his punching reflex. Sam must have heard Dean's footsteps stop, because he turned around in the gray hallway. They were almost outside, Dean could see Baby through the glass doors at thhe end of this file-keeping joint. San furrowed his brows, looking from Andy to Dean.

"I have a quick question for him Sam, you can go ahead to the car." Sam raised his eyebrows a bit then looked at Dean. Dean looked at Andy, and while he didn't like the idea of being alone with someone who can completely control him, Dean had had a feeling in his gut about Andy since the very beginning. Andy wasn't the bad guy here. Apparently, his evil twin was. Dean looked back to Sam, giving a slight but sure nod of his head. Sam analyzed them for a couple more seconds before he turned and started walking the rest of the hallway. Dean's eyes may or may not have followed Sam's ass before he realized that he was, in fact, not alone. 

Dean turned his attention back to Andy, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

"Dean, what's it like having a brother?" Well that was not what Dean was expecting. He didn't know what he was expecting, but a question that simple was not it.

"It's like heaven and hell at the same time." What. Dean was not a poet. His mouth right now, ohgod. "Sam can be a pain in the ass, believe me, and I spend the majority of my time looking out for the kid, protecting him and saving his ass. But he's also smart as hell, and saves my ass too. I would say I don't know how to live without him, but I had to entirely for two years. And I'll tell you what, man, nothing messes someone up like taking away their other half. I went off the deep end into pain, oblivion, and downright terrifying shit. When we're together, though, I finally feel right, complete. Like I'm supposed to be next to Sam. All the time."

That wasn't that bad. Dean could live with that answer. Andy's face was kind of twisted up, all pondering.

"I wonder if my...brother...will feel that way about me. I mean, I barely know him, I don't know how he could think I'm his other half. Is that a normal brother thing?"

"Probably not. Sam and I have a very unique thing between us. To be honest, well obviously, I'm not even sure what that unique thing is."

Andy nodded, like this made all the sense in the world.

"Yeah, I figured you guys kind of had a thing. But, uh, you definitely don't have to answer that. Your personal relationship with your brother is your business, and I, uh, okay I'm gonna stop talking now."

Dean nodded appreciatively at Andy. Thank the lord that was close. But Andy thought they had a thing? What kind of thing did he mean? Dean was about to open his curious mouth and ask, but Andy had already stepped off towards the Impala. And Sam. Dean hurried close behind, eyes on Sam for as long as was unsuspicious. Well, kind of unsuspicious. Dean wasn't really sure what crossed what line anymore. Although maybe Sam didn't know either.

Dean could visibly relax now too, now that they'd gotten that whole conversation out of the way when they were out f Sam's earshot. Sam was already acting a little funny lately, Dean didn't need even more reasons to heap on top of that plate.


	28. Obscenely (No Exit - 02x06)

Jo put up with a lot in her years. She was used to hunters, used to the dicks they could all totally be. So of course, she thought she'd been prepared for dealing with the Winchesters. And yes, she'd heard a lot of talk about them, about how unnaturally close they were, how they functioned as two parts of the same deadly machine. She also knew hunters exaggerated, lied, and cheated their way through everything. It was part of the job description. 

What she wasn't anticipating was how the rumours were almost on target. Almost, she thought, because they didnt even come close to how extreme the truth was. Sam and Dean weren't just part of the same team, they were practically the same person split into two different bodies. It was unnerving. Not to mention quite annoying. 

Jo was a pretty girl. She knew that. She was talented, could play poker, had. Good taste on music, she was smart, she wasn't afraid of hunting or monsters. She was blonde and young and fit and knew how to fire a gun. She was the perfect girl for Dean Winchester. And somehow he had no idea. Still. 

It was like he was blind when they were in the same room together, his eyes, his focus, his entire body trained on Sam. And Sam was just the same. She'd caught a glimpse of it when she'd first met the boys, but she had counted some of that being their father just dying, and them being in a strange new place, wary of danger. But they were a thousand times worse now, espcially that they were alone. 

She'd been sitting at the table, going over research, when Sam came in the door. The first thing he did when he opened the door was look around, searching for something. No hello, not even a glance at Jo. His eyes scanned over her like she was just another wall. His eyes finally settled on the big armchair a few feet from where Jo was sitting. Dean was sprawled out on it, one arm tucked under his body awkwardly and the other splayed acros his lower back, almost as though he was trying to keep himself warm, like a lover would. 

Jo wondered briefly for a moment the last time that Dean had fallen asleep in the same bed as someone. She wondered if there was anyone he kept wrapped up in his arms to keep warm. His arm on his back looked like a replacement for someone else's, a regular, but that was impossible. The Winchesters were always on the road. 

Once Sam had located Dean, his frantic searched stopped and his body visibly relaxed. He noticed Jo finally, closing the door behind him and walking over. His voice was no louder than a whisper, his footsteps light too, like he was hyper aware of Dean sleeping, like it was the only thing on his mind. 

"How long's he been out?" Sam's eyes looked fondly at the awkwardly twisted Dean, his spiked hair mushed into the cushion. 

"A few hours." Jo didn't whisper as obscenely as Sam, but she did keep her voice down. She didn't think she wanted to know their morning routine when Dean woke up. It'd be better for Sam to be gone when that happened. 

"Why don't you go get coffee? I'm sure you know what he likes." Sam looked at her peculiarly. His sass expression said DUH so loudly Jo winced like he had shouted it. Then Sam turned back to the sleeping beauty and his expression softened. 

"Yeah, okay. Tell him I'll be back soon if he wakes while I'm gone. I'll hurry." Sam took one last look at Dean and practically ran out the door. Jo sighed, speaking sarcastically to herself once the door was shut behind Sam. 

"I'm sure he won't survive another fifteen minutes without you." Just as she was grumbling that, Dean started to shift uncomfortably. It was like he had noticed Sam's absence, even in his dream world. Jo sighed, annoyed that Dean actually _had_ noticed another fifteen minutes without Sam. 

Jo picked up her knife, twirling it between her fingers as she kept turning over pages of notes. They had to be missing something, and she was determined to be the one to find it. She would prove her hunting skills to Dean. He had to notice her then. 

A loud fire truck siren sounded, echoing throughout the apartment. A funny noise came from Dean, and he shifted in the chair again. Jo looked up to see him lift his head, blinking his eyes groggily and running a hand over his face. First-thing-in-the-morning Dean was adorable.

"Morning, Princess." Jo smiled, actually pretty cheery. Dean had woken without the distraction of his brother here, he looked adorable, and she actually had time to talk to him alone. Just him. 

"Where's Sam?" Wow. Major mood dampener. Jo's happy smile instantly faded, replaced with an irked expression. No good morning, no how are you's, no acknowledging Jo in any way. First thing on Dean's mind as he wakes? Sam. Where's Sam. 

"Went to get coffee." Dean seemed content with that answer, and sat the rest of the way up, grunting quietly. Jo had to play this right, she only had til Sam got back. 

Okay, what did Dean want. Obviously, someone with dedication. And Jo certainly had that, she'd pulled an allnighter. And she had to seem disinterested, only look at him occasionally. Be distracted by other things, like her knife. She liked spinning it, it made her look skilled and sharp. Then play to their similarities. They both had daddy issues, and that was something extremely personal that could bring them closer. She just had to get Dean to open up to her, get him away from his addiction to Sam, then he was all hers. 

The hardest part would be getting him away from Sam. Nothing short of Sam dying could separate them. Although, honestly, there was a tiny part in the back of Jo's mind that said not even that could keep them apart. But she was ignoring that part, focusing on now. Dean was here, right here, standing before her with that sleepy look on his face. And she'd get him. She had to.


	29. Flummoxed (The Usual Suspects - 02x07)

Sam didn't mean to, he just automatically finished Dean's sentence. Didn't even think about it, it had become extremely natural. 

"Or an invisible killer." Dean pointed at Sam, acknowledging him with a click with the side of his mouth, a sound that should not have been as fascinating as it was to Sam's brain. 

"My favorite kind." The smile on Dean's face was extremely adorable and Sam was doing everything in his power not to stare. Or think about it. 

"What do you think, Scully?" Really, Dean, X-Files? Scully and Mulder were a great team, though. 

"I'm not Scully, you're Scully." Sam furrowed his brow and tossed the newspaper at Dean. Being a newspaper, it didn't fly further than Dean's half of the table. Dean's smile just quirked up his mouth further, and Sam's eyes darted down. He'd been avoiding it, avoiding Dean's plump and pink lips that made Sam's heart beat quicker than it had since the first time he had to take the Pre-LSAT. But now his eyes couldn't leave them, the perfect, heart shaped, obscenely glistening lips that Sam had been so close to at one point and had also been so close to doing something extremely stupid. He was avoiding the entire topic in his head so he didn't really know what any of it meant. Just refuses to think about that. About Dean, like that. Then his lips were moving, and Sam was paying attention now, to the words, to the sparkle in Dean's eyes, to the way he leaned back in his chair, like he owned it and everything else in the world.

"No I'm Mulder, you're the red headed woman." It was just like Dean to make Sam the girl. Sam made a face, then the comparison kind of dawned on him. But. Wait. Mulder and Scully were in a relationship. What. Dean just compared them to. What. 

Sam sat there at the table blinking, his facial expression going from teasing to flummoxed. There were tons of crime-solving partners Dean could have referenced, and he choose the one that was a dedicated couple. Why had Dean compared them to a couple? It was entirely unnecessary and Sam was wayyy over thinking this. He had to be. 

The interrogator's voice broke through his memory and Sam snapped back to the present, pushing the analogy out of his head. Or at least, putting it on a backburner. There were many more important things to worry about right now than one of Dean's many comments.

"So what happened next?"

"Went to go see Karen. She was barely holding it together. I mean, we just wanted to be there for her, you know?" Then Sam started in on the made-up details of the next part of the story, the real version playing like a movie in his head. He kept telling more of the story he'd made up, all the way til when they were in Giles's office, and Sam was cracking the password to the dead man's computer. 

Dean was sitting in the arm chair, just watching Sam type. Sam was pretending not to feel the heat of Dean's eyes on him, after all, they sat across from each other all the time. This staring was different than a diner table though, maybe because it was dark, maybe because Dean didn't have food to distract him or any reason to be looking at Sam. Either way, it was making it hard to concentrate. Sam's brain couldn't function right when he was getting a stare down from those green eyes. 

Dean's attention span has either gone to zip, he'd had too much coffee, or he had noticed how Sam's brow had creased more with concentration now that he was being watched. Either way, Dean started making impatient clicks and annoying noises. Anything for an excuse to leave Sam alone and get Dean assigned to another task besides staring at him.

"Dude, seriously?" Sam looked over at Dean, not hiding his aggravation any. 

"Alright, imma go talk to Karen again, see if she knows anything about this Dana Shulps, huh?" Dean wiped his hand across his forehead and stood, already making his way to the door. 

"Great." Sam watched him go, his eyes dipping to see Dean's hips swing as he rounded a chair. Sam darted his eyes back up guiltily as Dean threw a glance over his shoulder. 

"Keep goin, Sparky." Dean flickered the flashlight in Sam's face, so Sam thankfully missed whatever smirk was playing on Dean's lips with that comment. Then Dean turned and opened the door, Sam watching him go. What was up with the nicknames today? Sam got the occasional nickname, usually something annoying or having to do with psychic people. 

But all of them today got Sam thinking. First the couple, then Dean called Sam a dog. What kind of reference was that? Maybe it wasn't one. It couldn't be one. So, maybe the Mulder-Scully thing didn't mean anything either. Sam chewed his lip, and couldn't decide of he was relieved or disappointed. Both, maybe. 

"So why didn't you go with him?"

Sam shrugged. 

"I just went back to the motel. How'd you know I was there anyways?" The interrogator tossed a bag on the table, her face contorting to angry.

"We found the motel matchbook on your brother when we arrested him." Oh man, Dean had gotten searched. He was gonna bitch fit complain to Sam about that later. "Why you two share a motel room, I don't get. Not to mention only one of the beds had been used."

Sam looked up at her, pretending to be bored. 

"We'd just gotten into town, and I slept in the car. So, Dean crashed and took a nap when we checked in, I went out to get food. Dean can only really sleep in one bed, you know?" 

The interrogator gave him a sass face, but Sam didn't mind. She wasn't exactly intimidating. Even though he lied about the whole nap thing. They'd actually gotten here at like 1 in the morning, so the first thing they did was fall on to the bed and catch five or six hours of sleep. Dean needed at least 4 to work on, and it was a proven fact that people fall asleep faster when they share a bed with someone else, so they'd fallen asleep a couple of feet apart on the bed. 

Although when Sam woke up, his calf was slung over Dean's, his right elbow wrapped around Dean's hip, (although his right hand was thankfully splayed casually on the sheets in front of Dean's chest), and his forehead was pressed up against the back of Dean's neck. There was still at least five inches between Sam's chest and Dean's back, so they definitely weren't spooning or anything. It was just a loose hold, although Dean probably would have thrown a fit if he had woken up first. So Sam had carefully lifted his arm, leg, and head away from Dean, rolling off the left side of the bed to pad across the floor into the bathroom. And avoided waking up to a bitchfit from Dean. Which, oddly enough, hadn't happened yet. 

Every time that Sam woke up after Dean, he'd never gotten a complaint, just Dean halfway across the motel room, a soft smile on his face. _Mornin, sleepy,_ he'd say, making Sam mirror the same smile Dean was wearing. Sam wondered if maybe he only curled around Dean on the nights that Sam woke up first. If that was the case, it was very lucky for Sam, and quite peculiar as well. But Dean never complained, so that had to be the case. Right?

The lady had probably noticed him checking out, but Sam didn't mind. It wasn't like he gave her anything she could use, anyways. What made her think he'd rat out his own brother? Why would anyone? But, then again, not all siblings were as close as Sam and Dean. Well. Okay. Most siblings weren't as close as Sam and Dean. 

That reminded Sam, of something she'd said earlier. _You know, I almost didn't believe you were brothers at first. Not til I saw the same last names on your files. The way you two talk about each other, it's remarkable. Dean can't even say your name without lighting up like a goddamn Fourth of July cracker._ Sam used to ignore all the comments. Had actually spent most of his life ignoring the comments. But lately he'd been saving them, analyzing them. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on Sam and Dean's relationship, and there had to be some reason why. But Sam would find it eventually. He just needed time. 

And he needed to not be separated from Dean. That made him nervous as hell. Not as much because he missed him, although that was definitely a factor, but more because Sam was afraid of what Dean would do to get back to Sam's side. Even worse, Sam was afraid of what _Sam_ would do to get back to Dean. Almost anything, it seemed. Almost anything.


	30. Unduly (Crossroad Blues - 02x08)

Dean wasn't sure how he'd managed not to make that deal. It had been so enticing, so hope-inducing Dean surprised himself as he started the exorcism. Maybe it was the thought of what Sam would say, how disappointed he'd be in Dean. Maybe it was the idea of Sam and Dad being stuck without Dean. They'd kill each other. Or worse. 

Either way, Sam was still fretting over him. Sam had been unduly worried about Dan's emotions, probably biting his lip the entire time Dean had summoned the demon. Sam had done a bit of interrogation earlier in the car, but the way Sam's jaw was set, he still wasn't satisfied that Dean wasn't going to do stupid. Which was reasonable, because Dean didn't even know if Dean was going to do something stupid. It just wouldn't be sell-his-soul level of stupid, Dean was much smarter than that. 

When they'd crossed a couple of state lines, filled up the Impala, crossed another, and switched drivers, it was finally time they stopped. Sam pulled the car down a road, following signs advertising a neighborhood-in-progress. The houses were small and just past the basics stage, no insulation yet from the looks of it. Sam drove a little ways before pulling into a driveway and around the back of one of the empty houses. They didn't squat often, and this one shabbier than most. Dean wasn't one to complain though, not when it meant less of his poker money getting spent. He let Sam check out the back door, focusing very hard on not following the back pockets of Sam's jeans with his eyes. After forcing that torture on himself, Dean got out of the car, rubbing at his eyes as he opened up the trunk to get their duffels. He grabbed Sam's too, just to give Sam a reason to not bitch. 

Dean pulled down the trunk hatch, closing it forcefully. The weight of the heavy lid kind of pulled him sideways, where the unexpected weight of Sam's additional bag swung him off balance. Dean stumbled to the side, losing his footing and reaching out with his arm to grab the Impala to steady himself. He wasn't close enough to reach the car, and everything was going in slow motion. 

Just as Dean almost landed on his ass, strong arms wrapped around his waist. Dean fell awkwardly against a muscular chest, the arms wrapped around his waist holding him tight. Dean recognized the firm but gentle hands that were now sliding across his stomach to his hip bones. Sam fingers wrapped around his pelvic crest, the very top of his hipbone. His thumbs were braced against Dean's fairly slim waist, and Dean suddenly felt much too girly. His hands found Sam's, accidentally resting on Sam's just a moment too long before Dean started prying Sam off of him. 

"Leggo, I'm fine," Dean grumbled, placing his footing and standing up straight. Sam let go, not saying anything, just following closely behind Dean as Dean marched over to the back door. "I'm just tired, lost my footing. No big deal." 

Sam stayed quiet, getting the lock pick out of his pocket and holding open the door for Dean. The smell of new wood greeted him, a smell Dean actually didn't mind. The house only had a couple of rooms in the back half, although one of thankfully was half carpeted and had a roll of the other half laying on the exposed wood. 

Dean set both of their bags down by the door to the room, on the wood part. Then he set to cutting the string that held together the second roll of carpet. The carpet was heavy, but Dean dragged it as it unfurled, using the weight to his advantage. He layed the second piece of carpet on top of the already attached carpet on the floor, making as plush of a mattress as he could. 

Sam walked into the room as Dean stood, carrying their sleeping bags and blankets. The moon was full, thankfully, so the empty squares for windows let in enough light to see. The pale white sent stark angles of contrast over Sam's face as he stooped to set up the bedding. Dean watched him, his eyes grazing over defined cheekbones and a dark line of a sharp jaw. 

Finally, Sam stood back up, both of them awkwardly silent in the barely lit space. Dean didn't want to be the first to speak, he knew every word he spoke was going to be analyzed and weighed on Sam's Scale of Dean's Sanity. Dean wasn't sure what Sam's silence was for, but he figured he'd either find out or it'd go away.

Dean kicked off his boots, probably a bit more violently than necessary. He shucked his jacket too, placing it over on his upturned duffel. When Dean straightened up and turned back around, Sam's head quickly turned, shooting his gaze guiltily away from Dean. Dean didn't let himself think about it, or where Sam had been looking. He wasn't going to mess with it. He was too tired to think straight anyways. Dean walked back over to the makeshift bed, having to kneel down on the floor before slipping underneath the covers. He was still in jeans and a flannel button-up, but Dean slept in jeans often enough to not care a lot. And he hadn't been injured, so the rough material wasn't scraping any open wounds. 

Dean shut his eyes with a deliberate movement, attempting to force his body into the upcoming refreshing sleep. Of course, it doesn't work like that, so Dean just ended up listening to Sam dropping his own jacket, and surprisingly, not his jeans. Sam refused to sleep in jeans. Dean was still kind of curiously trying to reason with why when Sam lifted his side of the blanket. Instead of laying where he normally did, Sam sidled over to Dean, suddenly wrapping his arms around Dean's torso and pulling Dean into his chest. Dean's head ended up in the crook just above Sam's heart and one of Sam's arms left his torso in favor of wrapping across the back of Dean's neck and curling over Dean's shoulder, Sam's fingers brushing across Dean's bicep lightly. 

By the time Dean even registered what the hell was happening, he was already partially on top if Sam, nestled into his brother's side in one of the most coupley couple poses imaginable. Dean was frozen stiff, his mouth dry and eyes wide like he'd just been paralyzed. He opened his mouth, but found he wasn't quite sure what vocal chords were or how to use them, let alone what to say. Sure, Sam had curled into him before, Dean woke up with Sam touching him more often than not. And the one time that Dean was dying. And the time that Sam had horrible nightmares. But that was subconscious, or dying, or the simple act of protecting Sam and had absolutely nothing to do with cuddling-with-your-brother decisions. Not to mention that Dean was being the girl here. And Sam had a polite death grip on him. 

He finally managed to clear his throat, starting out a word. It came out raspy and entirely unintelligible, so Dean tried again. This time, words came, although they were raspy and almost shaky. 

"Sam," another throat clearing. "What the hell."

Sam didn't answer for a moment, just breathed out a breath of air in Dean's hair. Dean tried desperately to ignore the warmth that accompanied Sam wrapped around him. He refused to relax into Sam's grip, this felt different than every other time, there had been very legit reasons for all those others. Finally, Dean squirmed a bit in Sam's arms, trying to lift his head to look Sam in the eyes. It didn't work, and Dean huffed and put his head back down. On Sam. 

"You scared me." The words were so quiet, Dean felt them more than heard them. "If you'd. If you'd done what Dad did- I just. I didn't know what would happen. I thought maybe you'd. Just leave and. And you scared me."

Dean didn't have the heart to wrestle Sam off of him after that. He just laid there in silence, feeling the rise and fall of Sam's chest through his body. He finally untensed his shoulders a bit, letting himself semi-relax in Sam's warmth. He knew he shouldn't, but Sam needed to know Dean wasn't leaving, so Dean said it as loudly as possible: with his body. 

So what if Sam needed proximity to feel safe. Dean could handle that. He'd keep this strictly business, and shove all of the sappy, secret feelings aside. Just because he fit perfectly in Sam's arms didn't mean. Didn't mean anything. And so maybe Dean was being selfish, letting Sam do this because Dean dreamed about it, but he hadn't initiated it and Sam had zero to negative romantic feelings towards him, so there was nothing wrong. Just platonic comforting. Dean could just fangirl about it later. Much, much later.


	31. Hastily (Croatoan - 02x09)

"Dean, don't do this." Dean blinked and looked up at Sam from under his eyelashes. His expression was anything but flirty though, his eyes rock hard with determination but the rest of his face set in a soft surrender. Sam had never seen the surrender before. "Just get the hell out of here."

"No way." Dean looked down, from side to side, avoiding Sam's eyes entirely. His gaze caught on the wall for a moment before his eyes finally fell back to Sam's like gravity had made them do it. Then Dean looked down again. It was like it physically caused Dean pain to look at Sam, although at the same time, the tight corners of his jaw suggested it was the only thing he wanted to do. Sam couldn't let Dean do this. Dean was too perfect, too strong and good and right to die for Sam. Even to die _with_ Sam. Sam didn't deserve someone that good stuck with him in his final hours. Dean was a hero, a genius, and the only thing that ever kept Sam alive. Except now, now Sam had to take charge. He _had_ to do this one last thing for Dean. He had to get him out.

"Give me my gun. And leave." Now Dean just kept his eyes locked on Sam. The eye contact was intense, it felt like there was a fire building inside of Sam's stomach with every second Dean stood and looked at him. 

"For the last time, Sam. No." Dean turned his back and started strolling away. That was Dean's no-argument-will-win-me-over tone of voice that Sam heard very rarely, actually. Sam couldn't let him do this. The bastard was not going to die this way. His vision turned red and blurry as Sam slammed his hand down, mouth clenched with anger, anger at Dean for not seeing all he was worth, worth so much more than this. Sam was fighting back tears through his anger, tears of the thought that Dean was about to die. Dying himself, yeah it sucked, but the tears were for Dean. Sam _couldn't let Dean die._

Dean turned around at Sam's outburst, but Sam had already collected some of that anger back. Dean looked at him cooly, his expressions a mix of their usual stiffness and that surrender to death that was absolutely destroying Sam.

"This is the stupidest thing you've ever done." Sam's words were much softer than the rage he felt inside, although even that was fading, into devastated sadness.

"I don't know about that. Remember that waitress in Tampa?" Dean looked away and shuddered, his mouth attempting at a half smile but Sam entirely ignored the attempt for a change in mood.

"Dean, I'm sick." Dean's mouth was opened in an "o," one that said he wanted to talk, but didn't want to interrupt Sam. "It's over for me. It doesn't have to be for you."

"No."

"No, you can keep going!"

"Who says I want to?" Dean's eyes met Sam's, and Sam could suddenly see it. See how broken Dean was, deep down into his soul. Sam hadn't been wrong, when he'd first seen Dean in his apartment in Palo Alto. Dean _had_ changed. Sam was 100% sure of it. And whatever it was that had broken Dean, it was on Dean's mind. Right now. If Sam had time, he could convince Dean to tell him. But he didn't. Besides, Dean had kind of just dropped a bomb. He didn't want to keep hunting. Living. Whatever. And Sam had a feeling it was because of whatever happened when Sam was away at Stanford.

"What?"

Sam watched Dean as he crossed the room, his eyes followed the gorgeous slope of his brother's back right up until the moment that he turned around, and Sam looked hastily away. Then his gaze shifted back to Dean again, who was sitting on the counter, gun casually in his hand.

"I'm tired, Sam. I'm tired of this job. This life. This weight on my shoulders, man, I'm tired of it."

"So what, so you're just gonna give up? I mean, you're just gonna lay down and die?" _Dean was a hero. Dean should have died happy, with a girl at his side, or at least in some epic heroic death, taking down with him a hundred monsters to his grave._ "Look, Dean, I know this stuff with Dad had-"

"You're wrong." Dean wasn't looking at him. So it wasn't Dad's death, or anything Dad had done while Sam was at Stanford that was what had broken Dean. Dad's death had hurt, sure. And it had done nothing to help Dean's brokenness. But it wasn't Dad.

Dean flicked his eyes up to Sam's, shyly, before flitting back down, staring at nothing.

"It's not about Dad. I mean, part of it is, sure."

"Then what is it about?"

Dean swallowed, his mouth opening. Sam could practically hear the first word on Dean's lips, the way he was acting, the way he _had_ been acting. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. But the word Sam saw?

_You._

Then, of course, the doctor had knocked on the door at precisely that moment. There couldn't have been worse timing if she had deliberately tried. 

Sam would get Dean to tell him though, to say it. Sam had to know if he was right. Was it him? Was he the one who had broken down the bright fire that had been his brother? Was he the reason why Dean didn't trust anyone, kept his heart and his feelings all to himself? 

Sam had to know. He had to.


	32. Allaying (Hunted - 02x10)

This was the most allaying moment of Dean's life thus far. The relief that flooded through him, soaked into every bit and bone of his body was enough to make his body shake. If it weren't for the bounds that constricted him, Dean would have probably fallen out of the chair. Either that or leap up and grab on to Sam and never let go.

Those two explosions, the feeling that followed them, that was something that Dean was never going to forget. Sitting here, tied and helpless, as Sam came to rescue him like some damn Damsel in Distress. The first explosion, it brought with it every moment Dean had ever seen Sam bleeding, hurt, lying on the ground, even as a kid from falling off his bike. To think that Sam may be like that right now. It had killed Dean. He had let out a scream, muffled by his gag, doing anything he could, just anger seeping through him, anger and pain. And then came the second explosion. That explosion went straight to Dean's heart instead of his head, shattering his entire being in the most permanent sort of way. The pain that seared through him, the worry, was unimaginable. That's when his body first started raking with shakes, although Dean tried desperately to get a hold of himself, barely letting the possibility of Sam actually being dead into his head.

And then Dean had heard the scuffle, the sounds of a fight. There was hope then, the possibility that Sam was still alive. Dean in any other circumstance wouldn't dare believe in hope, let himself think Sam was alive, just for fear of round two of earth-shattering disappointment. But then, here he was. Sam stumbled out, stumbled into Dean's sight. Relief and joy and so much goddamn emotion just ripped through Dean, his Sammy was okay. Sammy was here, Sammy was okay. Dean strained over his shoulder, ignoring the pain that tore through one of his muscles to do so, he just had to see what kind of condition Sam was in. Dean wasn't going to be truly okay until he was 100% sure that Sam was alright.

Dean's eyes were asking questions, with his mouth gagged still. _Are you alright?_

Sam heard him and stumbled his way over, placing a strong but shaky hand on Dean's shoulder. Sam's touch radiated through Dean, the warmth of his brother's _alive_ body, and all of Dean's masks, walls, plans, all of them went out the window. Sammy was here, Sam was okay. It was all that mattered right now, and the past few months of hiding his more-than-brotherly feelings for Sam seemed so frivolous and unimportant Dean honestly did not care at all anymore. He might latter, but right now, his brother was standing in front. 

Dean looked down at his arm and wiggled it, mostly just trying to get out of his bonds, get his hands on Sam, make sure for himself, so he could really know, really be sure that Sam was okay. But also to show Sam why Dean hadn't lept up and saved him, why Dean was still not checking Sam for injuries right now. The hand on Dean's shoulder slid lightly down Dean's bicep, Sam's pinky skirting down the fabric of Dean's jacket and landing solidly on Dean's forearm. The pressure of it wasn't enough to feel on Dean's skin, but it still sent shivers through Dean's body. Sam weakly sank to his knees and Sam's right hand, the damaged one, used Dean's forearm to hold his weight as he lowed himself down to the ground.

Dean's focus on Sam's right hand was suddenly shifted as he left practically slammed on top of Dean's. Sam's rough warmth pushed into the top of Dean's hand, like Sam needed them touching to steady him too. Dean's hand automatically absorbed the force, letting Sam use him as a buoy, his hand bouncing back lightly. Dean curled his fingers against his leg, using them to prop his hand up higher. The adjust made it so that Sam could rest his hand on Dean's while he untied the rope around Dean's wrist. The look of concentration on Sam's face was immaculate, and Dean couldn't decide which to watch, the blood streaking down his brother's face, the beautiful set to his mouth as he concentrated, or the way his hand was resting warmly on top of Deans.

The ropes loosened quickly, and as soon as they were loose enough, Dean couldn't help but turn his hand, reaching for Sam's. If Dean's wasn't in such a hurry to check Sam's injuries, he'd have laced his fingers through Sam's in that moment. And who knows what would've happened then. But Sam was much more important than Dean's pounding heart, and he slipped free of the rope as soon as he could. Dean's hand instantly flew to the rope on his other hand, roughly tugging at the knots. His kept his eyes on Sam though, on the back of Sam's head as Sam bent down to untie Dean's feet. Dean could feel the ropes around his ankles fall free beneath Sam's skilled fingers. Dean quickly yanked his gag off, his tongue darting out in an attempt to re-wet his mouth.

On his way out of the chair, Dean bent to Sam and grabbed his wing muscles, helping lift him up. Sam let Dean help straighten back to standing, Dean's eyes not leaving Sam's face the entire time. Once Sam was upright, Dean's hands jumped to Sam's neck, holding his head in place so Dean could look at him, so he could judge Sam's condition for himself. Dean's eyes scanned over Sam's entire face, tracing the source of each trace of blood, analyzing every wound's damage. He used his grip on Sam's neck to angle him enough for Dean to see. Nothing looked extremely detrimental, although Dean kept his hands on Sam's neck, needing to hold him, just needing to be sure. Dean's thumbs ran up, stroking softly along the line of Sam's jaw. Sam was swaying, even through Dean's support, and Dean dug his thumbs into Sam's jawline a little, holding him like how Dean would hold Sam to kiss him. 

And Dean almost did, almost leaned forward and just showed Sam every bit of emotion he was feeling through the contact of their mouths. Sam looked at him and nodded, a reassuring, _I'm okay, I promise_ sort of nod. Dean was still reluctant to let go, afraid of anything that could happen the moment he was no longer holding up Sam. Then Sam's hand was on Dean's arm, another reassurance, grabbing him with a steadier hand than before. It was only then that Dean reluctantly let go of his grip on his little brother. Oh god, Sam. Sam who had almost died.

And it was all Gordon's fault too. Dean almost forgot. He spun around, intent on killing the thing that had threatened to kill his brother. Gordon wasn't human to Dean anymore, Gordon was a monster. Dean would've killed him too, if it wasn't for Sam's hand clutching onto the front of Dean's shirt. Dean could never ignore Sam's hands grabbing his clothing, but it was even with his bandaged hand. That stopped Dean straight in his tracks, made him turn around and look at Sam. Sam looked weak, and sore, beat terribly, and oh god, Sam had better let Dean end this. But Sam knew that Dean would stop at nothing to end the threat Gordon was now. And Sam being the angel that he was, tugged Dean back. There wasn't another option beyond killing Gordon, he had to keep Sammy safe, but Sam's eyes were pleading, just begging Dean to trust him.

Dean only relented when Sam assured him that he had it under control. Dean wasn't sure if that meant Sam had already killed him or not, and honestly, Dean wasn't sure what he wanted it to mean. He just sent one final glance back to the room where Gordon was before he allowed Sam to gently tug him away, out of this place. It didn't make sense to trust Sam on this, but Dean did. He just went along, doing Sam's bidding. Besides, Sam still had wounds Dean needed to take care of. Desperately.


	33. Arcane (Playthings - 02x11)

That entire case was turning into much more of a dramatic mess than Dean had been counting on. All he wanted was a simple case to get them back on the road again, but the first comment they get walking in the door is a gay one. Literally. About what size bed they wanted. And were they antiquers? The doorman thought they were gay too. And it wasn't like there was a reason, Dean and Sam hadn't even been looking at each other or standing anywhere within the viscinity of close. But hey, shit happens.

But even with that to compare to, Dean walked into the room with no idea what was treacherously lurking, and about to be awakened, in the silent corners of his mind. Sam was sitting in one of the big arm chairs, staring straight ahead. That should've been Dean's first clue, that Sam was being still for once. He was always researching, reading, doing something. But Dean was still absorbed in the case, his observation skills toned down now that he was back in the room with Sam. It wasn't until Sam's grumble that Dean even noticed something was wrong. 

"You're bossy." The words were pouty and low, causing Dean to turn his head and look over at Sam, concerned. Sam was sprawled out, his arms draped over the armrests and his legs spread, his bottom lip pushed out and disheveled strands of hair in his face. 

"What?" Dean wasn't sure he'd just heard that right.

"You're bossy." Sam threw his hands up in a helpless gesture, going back to his sprawled position and not looking Dean in the eyes.

"And short." Sam added with a giggle. Dean looked at him incredulously. 

"Are you _drunk_?"

"So?" Sam countered quickly. Well, as quick as he could in the state he was in. Dean turned his head, scoping out the empty alcohol bottles and glasses on the little table by the wall. Oh god, Sam was actually drunk. Dean couldn't even remember the last time Sam had been drunk.

"Dude what are you thinking, we're on a case." 

Then came the spill. Sam broke down and blubbered, his little slurred speech about how he couldn't save everyone and how he wasn't good enough and all that crap that Dean knew wasn't true. The stuff that ran through this kid's head, though, damn. No wonder he'd gotten drunk. Dean listened to Sam's drunken stupor the best he could, only injecting the occasional comment when Sam said something ridiculously untrue.

As dangerous as it was to get drunk on a case, Dean had to admit it was nice to finally know the thoughts tramping around in that big head of Sam's. Seriously, Sam could be totally arcane sometimes, and now Dean was finally touching in on some of the hidden mysteries swirling around his brother's overcrowded mind. Dean had had no idea it was this bad, that Sam felt this responsible for everything. Dean understood, he really did, but Sam had to learn to push that stuff off, to let go of all of the guilt. Living life like you were solely responsible for everything had to make for an extremely unpleasant day. Finally Dean butt in, feeling he knew enough now to help Sam off his cliff of despair, but a little afraid of what Sam could spill next. Sam should be sleeping anyways, he needed to sober up as soon as possible. And Dean didn't particularly liked being yelled at about destiny by his drunk brother.

"Alright, time for bed. C'mon Sasquatch, c'mon." Dean leaned down over Sam, wrapping his hands underneath Sam's arms and hauling him to his feet. It felt like Sam was six again, protesting sleep until Dean had to pick him up and carry him in. Dean'd stumble on the way to the bedroom, only being ten and not quite big enough to comfortably carry Sam. Then Sam would dramatically bury himself under the covers, finally poking his head out the top, making his hair stand up in ten different directions. _Night Dean,_ he'd say, pulling his arms out from under the sheets to make grabby fists at Dean. Dean would relent and lean down, giving Sam a goodnight kiss on the forehead. _Night Sammy, sleep well._

Except now Sam was resisting him even more than he had as a kid, his hands grabbing on to Dean as soon as he was on his feet. Dean had one hand on Sam's wing muscle, holding him steady while the other hand fisted the front of Sam's jacket, directing him towards the bed. Sam's grip shifted from Dean's forearms to his bicep and chest, Sam clutching at Dean's clothes and arm like he'd fall off the edge of the earth if he held on any looser. Dean pretended not to notice how close their bodies were, how there was barely space for the tangle of arms between them. Sam's face was _right there_ and Dean had to look down to avoid the pounding thoughts echoing off the walls of his mind.

"Dean, you gotta watch out for me." Didn't he always?

"Yeah, I always do." That apparently wasn't the answer Sam was looking for, because he somehow managed to tighten his grip on Dean, making him stop advancing towards the bed. Dean was 100% sure he would have bruises on his arm tomorrow morning.

"No, Dean, I mean you gotta watch _out_ for me. Alright?" Dean met Sam's eyes, their faces inches apart and Sam's body very very drunk. This could end so horribly if Dean let it. Dean had to know what Sam meant though, he had to listen to Sam while Sam was still too drunk to have a filter. Dean's eyes searched Sam's face, his entire expression.

"And if I ever turn into something that I'm not," Dean tilted his head. Sam could not be serious right now. "You have to kill me."

"Sam," Dean said dismissively. The word was quiet and protesting, but final. Dean turned his head away, emphasizing his _you gotta be kidding me, there's no way_ point. Drunk Sam apparently didn't understand the meaning of final though, because he suddenly reattached his hands to Dean roughly, landing back where they had been, but still drawing Dean's eyes back to him.

"Dad told you to do it, you have to." That was strange coming out of Sam's mouth. It was probably because Sam thought Dean followed every single one of Dad's orders. And Dean had, for the most part. Although he had done his share of rebelling, too, always for Sam or on Sam's behalf. Sam was never really in the room for that though, Dean made sure of it.

"Yeah, well Dad's an ass." Sam looked as surprised as if Dean had just told him he wanted to run away and join the circus as a ballerina. "You don't just tell someone to do that. You don't just lay that kind of crap on your kids."

Dean was kind of yelling, but hey, he was right. And it felt good to say out loud, to dismiss his father's final order. Sam looked away though, still not believing Dean.

"No, he was right to say it. Who knows what I might become?" Dean stood across from Sam, looking up at him with the expression that was to make Sam feel like he was the one looking up. "Even now, everyone around me _dies_."

They were standing further apart now than they had been, but Sam's emphasis arm still brushed against Dean's stomach on it's way out. Dean ignored the flutter it sent up his spine.

"Yeah, well I'm not dying. C'mon." Dean had taken his hands off Sam after Sam had mentioned Dad, but he grabbed back on to Sam now, pushing Sam backwards towards the bed. Sam automatically returned the grip, protesting still but not sober enough to stop Dean from pushing Sam into a sitting position on the bed.

"No, please, Dean, you're the only one who can do it." Dean had a hand on Sam's shoulder, planning to push his back on to the bed, but Sam wouldn't let up his grip on Dean. He held Dean so close that Dean could see every dot on Sam's face, could practically taste the alcohol he'd drowned himself in. For a split second, Dean wondered if it was possible to get second-hand drunk from making out with someone who was wasted. That was a really freaking bad idea though, not only the whole makeout-with-your-brother thing, but both of them getting drunk at the same time? Oh god.

"Promise." It was an obscene whisper, like Sam was saying the most precious secret in the world. It was not though.

"Don't ask that of me."

"Please. You have to promise me." Inches. There were only inches between them. Sam was clearly not letting go until he got what he wanted, and Dean was starting to become wasted himself, on the sheer closeness of Sam's face. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, looking as deep into Sam's eyes as he could see. For one moment, pushing aside the thoughts of the droplet of moisture on Sam's bottom lip that Dean was dying to catch with his tongue. Sam's eyes were dark, and pleading. It was like Sam thought this was the only way he'd ever be okay, the only way he wouldn't worry all the time was if Dean promised him this. Sam wanted this so badly, even more than that, Sam needed it. But Dean couldn't.

Sam's face was so close though, and Dean couldn't keep this up much longer. He had to do something. Something that preferably wouldn't make Sam hate him in the morning. Well, the options were either to make Sam hate him, or make Dean hate himself. And honestly, Sam always came first. So Dean had to.

"I promise." Sam's face looked oddly relieved for someone who just got a death sentence, he reeled back for a moment, looking at Dean appreciatively. 

"Thanks." Sam was still holding Dean's jacket, although he had loosened up a bit. Dean should have quickly stepped back, stepped out of the line of fire while he still could. But he hadn't known at the time exactly how much fire he was playing with. Sam breathed in deeply, like he was gaining courage for something. That should have been clue number two. But Dean still didn't bolt, didn't think to, Or was it didn't want to. 

Then suddenly Sam's hands shot up, cradling Dean's jaw and pulling his face forward. 

"Thank you." Another whisper. Dean didn't even register what was happening until he felt moisture on his lips. Dean suddenly went into fire mode, scrambling back and batting Sam's hands away from his face, whipping his head to the side and trying desperately to ignore the feeling of Sam's thumb dragging from the side of his mouth down his cheek. Dean pushed Sam over at the shoulder, forcing his body down onto the mattress in one quick motion. Dean's other hand picked up Sam's leg and scooted him back roughly, Sam's hips lining up with the rest of his body in the middle of the bed.

Dean fell back into a sitting position on the other bed, which was thankfully close enough to catch him. He watched as Sam rolled his body forward, carefully lifting his bandaged arm and sliding it underneath his body as he lifted his hips, turning face down into the pillow and making his ass stand up obscenely in the air. Dean could do nothing but sit and watch until Sam was settled, then he snapped back into reality.

His head was spinning, swirling, a motherfucking whirlwind of everything. The first thing Dean did was lift his hand to his mouth automatically. He layed his palm over it, wiping over his lips like he had done so many times. This was the first time, though, that his fingers caught a drop of moisture. The same drop that hand been on Sam's bottom lip. Dean's eyes shot down and to the side, trying not to think. He ducked his head down, hand running through his hair in exasperation and pain and what the hell just happened and what the hell had he just promised Sam? Those two factors and Dean was pretty sure he was going to die.

He sat for a moment, looking at his sleeping brother. He had to sort this through. This was the one and only time he'd allow himself to think about it. Just so he knew what happened. So, first, Dean got pressured into agreeing to kill Sam if Sam went darkside. No, worse. Dean had _promised._ Okay, so that was hell, but hey, Dean had broken promises before. Not really to Sam, but there was a first time for everything. 

Okay, second. Sam had grabbed his face and. And. God, why had they been so close together? Why had Dean let them be that close together? But Sam had grabbed his face. And used their closeness to his advantage. Brought Dean's face down just a bit, and then. Then their lips had touched. No, not exactly touched. More like brushed. Like absolutely zero pressure, not even close enough to have any pressure. But they had touched, just barely touched, just enough for the drop of moisture on Sam's bottom lip to transfer to Dean's. Okay. But it hadn't been a kiss. And Dean wasn't even denying when he said it wasn't a kiss, because, really, it wasn't. It was just an accidental brushing of lips because they'd been to close. But then why had Sam's hands been cradling Dean's face? No. No, it was accidental. That was all. An accidental, been too close, not even actually a kiss type of kiss. But it wasn't, because it wasn't a kiss.

Yeah Dean didn't feel any better after that little analysis. He looked at Sam for another long moment, then he decided he had to get out of here. Once Dean was on his feet again, he didn't stop til he was outside their room, halfway down the stairs and running into the old man. Even then, all he could really think about was Sam. That lady had had no idea how close she was to accurate when she'd accused them of being gay earlier. Oh man, the joys.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, when Dean got back, (he'd spent more than half the night at the bar, talking to the old man who ran the joint and learning all about Rose. He didn't have the courage to fall asleep in a bed across from Sam after. That. had happened. The rest of the night he kind of wandered the place, finally settling in some chair in the lobby, catching about an hour of shut-eye before he woke up and went on a coffee run. Sam was sure to be extremely hungover, and Dean could do at least that much) Sam was in the bathroom, on his knees and clutching the toilet rim.

Dean looked at him as he passed, then looked again. He could hear the pained hangover moans Sam was attempting to repress. Dean let the automatic smile come to his face, pretending he didn't have less than an hour of sleep and hadn't been worrying like crazy for the past whoever knows how many hours. Joking during very serious times of crisis was one of Dean's specialties.

"How ya feeling, Sammy?" Dean shed off his leather jacket, smiling wickedly to himself. He laughed a bit, not genuine, but Sam was too hungover too care. "I guess mixing whiskey and Yager was not such a gangbuster idea, was it?"

Then Dean suddenly had an idea. Fuck, this could be his way out. To leave all of the shit that happened behind them. Oh god. Dean froze, carefully asking the question in his light-hearted teasing voice while his body was tense as hell.

"I bet you don't remember a thing from last night, do you?"

"Ugh, I can still taste the tequila." Dean closed his eyes and nodded. Not an answer. Not the answer he had been looking for, anyways. But hey, it was wayyy better than the alternative, which would be Sam wanting to "talk about it." Dean had to leave that topic pronto now, now that he wasn't sure exactly how much Sam remembered.

"You know, there's a really good hangover remedy. It's uh, it's a greasy pork sandwich served up in a dirtyass tray."

"Aww, I hate you." Sam's groans were really quite unnecessary.

"Yeah, I know."

Then Dean turned it all to case-talk. Sam didn't question how Dean had found out the info he filled Sam in on, which was nice, because that would have brought up last night again. When Dean walked over to the bathroom door, he tried not to watch Sam, to see the long dark strands of sweat-dampened hair hanging in his face as he propped himself over the basin. 

It brought back memories, more memories of Sam's younger years, this time when Sam had barely just turned eighteen, about a month before he ditched for Stanford. Sam and Dad had had a huge argument, and Sam had left the motel, slamming the door behind him. Then Dad was gone, off on a hunt he insisted he'd do alone. Dean waited up until 3 o'clock the next morning, sitting propped up on a bed when Sam stumbled back into the room. He was raging drunk, a stunt Dean had pulled before, but never Sam. Sam barely glanced at him before he ducked into the bathroom, the sound of hurling following quickly. Dean didn't run, he swears to this day, just walked very quickly to Sam's side. Sam's hair was a little bit longer then, at least in the front, and hanging sweaty in his face like it was now. Dean had knelt by Sam's side, pulling his hair back off of his forehead with a gentle hand. Dean kept his hand there, propped against Sam's skin and lifting his hair off of his forehead. His other hand rubbed at Sam's back, murmuring something Dean couldn't remember now. 

Then Sam was lifting his head and the memory faded, replaced with the sinking feeling of maybe never being able to comfort Sam again. How could Dean take care of his brother when he just ruined everything last night? But the hate he was expecting to see in Sam's eyes wasn't there, just tiredness, and a vague haze of trying to care about the case. It was with relief that Dean teased Sam about his breath, and turned to hand him a coffee, Sam's favourite, as they walked out of the room.

Maybe it'd be okay after all.


	34. Factious (Nightshifter - 02x12)

It wasn't exactly tension that was between them, just a lot of room for disagreement. It was like they were both walking on egg shells, strung a little bit too tightly wound, and both of them were much too terrified to do anything about it. Honestly, they were still entirely functional and close, just a bit more eager to argue. Sam was fairly sure that being more factious than normal was part of both of their genetically encoded defense systems. Both of them were searching for some sort normalcy in their relationship they could rely on. No matter where they were at, whether Sam was eight or eighteen, or now, they always had days they argued. They were brothers. Brothers just argued sometimes. So when everything else felt confusing, Sam could fall back on the familiar feeling of sassing Dean. It was much better than alternative feelings Sam could be having. 

None of the arguments really held much heat, none of them had reason to. They were fighting to go through the motions, although the motions were kind of half-assed and short lived. Sam was mentally doing everything he could to focus 100% of his energy on the case. Sam had jumped on this case virtually minutes after their previous one, actually as Dean had been taking second shower, after Sam called first thanks to being drenched by the pool he had had to jump in to save Tyler. So there had basically no break between cases this time, and Sam was happy pretending that that was entirely void of meaning. It wasn't like Sam was afraid of what could happen if they had a little downtime.

Sam was doing everything he could not to think about the last case. Not to think about the extremely hazy memory in his mind that he wanted clarified more than anything. He could remember bits and pieces, all of it clouded with a drunken stupor. Not knowing exactly what had happened was killing him. But it was either die this way, or confront Dean about it. And that would mean dying for real. Or worse. Sam could think of a lot of things Dean could do that would be worse than killing him (like leaving him). After all, he'd promised Sam he'd kill him anyways.

Dean was way better at the whole "ignoring" thing than Sam was. Sam was happy to pick a fight, sure, but in the meantime his eyes could stop following Dean. Dean seemed to be suddenly entirely disinterested in what Sam looked like. Sam first noticed it in the security room, as they were watching the bank security tapes for the shapeshifter. Sam kept turning to Dean when he spoke, watching his profile as Dean stared straight ahead, messing with the camera zoom. After Sam caught himself looking unrequitedly at Dean for a third time, he realized Dean had been avoiding his gaze, especially when they were physically close like this. Although it wasn't as close as they could be at times.

As much as they were high strung around each other, Sam was still worried when they got separated. He understood why Dean went with Ronald, he really did, but it didn't make this any easier on Sam. As Dean closed the vault door behind him, he said something to calm the citizens, then shot Sam a look. The look was a partial apology for leaving Sam alone, for getting them separated, but the glance didn't ease Sam's nerves any as Dean was suddenly alone with a crazy mandroid-obsessed lunatic with an armed weapon. 

"Who is that man?" Some fawning blonde in the vault spoke aloud. Somehow Sam knew she wasn't talking about Ronald.

"He's my brother." The words came out with a lot less chipper than the blonde's. Because Sam hadn't said it aloud since. Since the last case, when something had happened. Although Sam had no idea what parts of what memories were a dream. Some of it had to be true at least, and parts of it were clearer than others. Like Dean's promise, that somehow wasn't as foggy as what happened after that. And his promise could very well be the reason Dean was so tense towards Sam right now. Although there was a really big part of Sam that was thinking that maybe some of his hazier memories might have been true, too. But if they were, why was Dean still here? Shouldn't he have bolted by now? Or maybe that's exactly what he was doing. Maybe he needed an excuse, and he'd just leave Sam locked up in here, in the vault for all of eternity.

"He's so brave." The blonde girl spoke again. Sam breathed in at those words, as they swirled into his already crazy brain processing. He could remember the years when that was all he thought of Dean too. How brave he was. Then had come the years that Sam had only thought of how ungoaled Dean was. Sam had realized more and more how much Dean just blindly obeyed Dad, and it had annoyed Sam more than anything. Dean was smart, and he had a huge chance at being successful. If he wanted it. But somehow he didn't, somehow Dean just wanted to puppydog Dad across the country, saving people, hunting things. Sam remembered an argument he'd had with Dean before Sam left for Stanford, how Sam had yelled at Dean about he could have so much more than this shitty life and Dean had been so extremely offended at that. Sam had never figured out why.

And now, these years, what exactly had Sam been thinking of Dean? Sam had been thinking _about_ him way more than usual. They'd be sitting at a diner somewhere and Sam would be surprised to find he was staring down Dean, grazing over his features and smiling to himself at the little habits Dean had that only Sam knew about. Sam would suddenly be so very aware of where their legs touched under the table, or of the way Dean's mouth fit around the top of his beer bottle. Then Sam would be looking down and blushing, mentally kicking himself and wondering what the hell was wrong with him. So Sam didn't know what he had been thinking of Dean lately. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. Well, actually, it was quite the opposite. Sam's thoughts were a little _too_ good. 

~*~*~*~

"Hey, we've got a bit of a problem outside." Dean stood up and closed most of the distance between him and Sam. Sam normally didn't notice, and Dean apparently didn't now, so whatever this problem was it had to be a big one.

"Huh. We got a problem in here." Dean nodded, rubbing his hand over his mouth in that way he always did when he was contemplating something or if he was upset.

"Well, me first. So apparently, they know I'm in here."

"Great." Sam sighed and threw up an arm in exacerbation. 

"Oh that's not all. There's a fed assigned to our case, name's Henriksen. And he knows about you, too." That actually surprised Sam a bit. He wasn't wanted by the police, not like Dean was. How could the feds know about him? Or more importantly, how did they know he was in here?

"How?"

"Well, he said he was assigned our case. Said he knew about you, too. Bonnie to my Clyde." 

Bonnie to his- Sam froze. Bonnie and Clyde were not only just partners in crime, they were one of the most iconic couples of all time. People used Bonnie and Clyde as an expression when they were talking about lovers, people who were so attached and together, they loved each other enough to die for one another. Although Sam supposed that he and Dean would die for each other...wow okay. Bonnie and Clyde. The lovers. That was so exactly not what Sam needed right now. He couldn't pile on Dean's smirk at Bonnie and Clyde to all of the shit he'd been trying to analyze in the first place. God _damn_ it.

"Uh, hello, earth to Sammy." Sam blinked and Dean came back to focus, waving a hand in front of Sam's nose. Sam backed up a step, Dean's hand a bit too close for comfort. 

"Sorry. Yeah, uh, I found another body. Sherry, her throat was slit." Then it was all case work again and Sam didn't have time to think about the Bonnie and Clyde thing anymore. And of course, Dean didn't have time to explain it further to Sam. Sam was pretty sure Dean had mentioned that on purpose. Just to mess with Sam's head. Although Sam wasn't sure what the motive was there, for Dean to mess with his thoughts. So maybe not. Maybe Sam was overthinking it. But Sam was pretty sure he was overthinking everything nowadays. It seemed to just follow the job description. And the brothers-with-Dean description. 

Later, he'd have time to analyze everything all out later. And maybe he'd confront Dean about it. Ha, who was Sam kidding? He wouldn't have the courage to do that in a million years. Probably. Maybe two million.


	35. Riveting (Houses of the Holy - 02x13)

Sam walked back in their motel room with a soft "hey." Dean didn't respond, and Sam looked curiously at him. He was laying on the farthest bed, feet crossed at the ankles, and eyes to the sky. And he had headphones in. That made sense as to why Dean didn't hear him. Sam just stared at Dean for a moment, at him layed out on the bed, totally relaxed and content while Sam had been worried and working and trying to figure out this case. It wasn't fair. 

As Sam walked closer, he could see the look of pleasure on Dean's face. It was torturous, his lips parted and wet, absolutely perfect for kissing. Which Sam definitely was not thinking about. What the hell was wrong with him? Dean was his _brother_ and Sam was over here mentally documenting the curve of his lips and how badly he wanted to memorize that curve underneath his own. Sam used to be able to just push away his thoughts, not think anything of them, but after what happened...whatever that was that happened that night that Sam had spent so many hours brooding over, trying to figure out which parts were memory and fantasy, after that Sam's thoughts weren't being so easily dismissed. It was like they kept on just riveting Sam's brain more and more.

Sam finally reached the foot of Dean's bed, and he reached out his hand to smack Dean's crossed over feet while repeating his earlier "hey," but it was accusatory this time, pissed instead of a greeting. It was rougher than necessary, sure. But whatever. Dean looked up at him and Sam raised his eyebrows in a _helloo_ face. Dean didn't react to Sam's pissiness though, his entire face breaking out in a grin.

"H-hey. Man, you got to try this, there's really magic in the magic fingers." Dean's words were broken with pleasure and Sam was suddenly so turned on it made his head spin. Which made him go from pissed to more like embarrased. Which Dean would think was for no reason, but oh if Sam's body twitching wasn't enough reason for the entire world. Looking at those plump lips and Dean's body spread out for the taking...it was torture. So Sam looked up and away, no longer able to face the sight without doing something incredible stupid.

"Dean, you're enjoying that way too much. It's kind of making me uncomfortable." Sam's words were dangerously close to the truth, which was that Dean's reactions were actually just making Sam's pants uncomfortably tight. Sam was afraid Dean might fight him, or tease him about what he said. A couple of months ago, that's exactly what Dean would've done. He'd have quirked one eyebrow and said something along the lines of _I bet it is. And you could always come enjoy it with me Sammy..._ That would have been classic Dean. And Sam would have rolled his eyes and smacked Dean's foot again. But lately, things had changed. Dean didn't tease him like that anymore. Instead, he defended himself. Like he was doing now.

"What am I supposed to do? You've got me on lockdown here. I'm bored out of my skull." 

"Hey, you were the bank robber on the eleven o'clock news, not me. We can't risk you to just walk into a government facility." Dean just hmm'ed Sam, his gaze turning away in disinterest. Sam rolled his eyes and threw his hand up in defeat, making a "forget you" gesture as he turned on his heel. Sam started the water at the sink in the bathroom, but he could still hear Dean's sounds. And Dean's sudden returned interest in talking to Sam now that his other source of entertainment had failed him. Great to know he was second to a little gray box in a motel room. Awesome.

"Hey, you got any quarters?"

"No." Then Dean was up behind Sam, and Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him. Exactly what part of him, he didn't know, but Sam pushed that thought away. Dean started talking the case, and when Sam turned back around, Dean was standing a foot away, leaning in the doorway like a goddamned male model or something. Talking the details of the case was always a good distraction, but Sam wasn't going to stand in here, pinned by Dean and his goddamn parted lips and posing. So Sam brushed his way past Dean, turning his shoulders to the side to slip past Dean and back into the bedroom. There was barely enough room for both of them in the doorway and Sam's ass brushed Dean's hip bone as he passed. Dean didn't say anything, thankfully, because Sam really could not afford having a major downstairs dilehma right now.

Did Dean have to stand that close to Sam as Sam took off his jacket? There was an entire room for Dean, and yet Dean still choose to stand a foot away. At all times. Had Dean always done that? Sam finally saw his opening to go sit down though, which he jumped on as quickly as he could as he went to sit down. Dean was complaining about how angels weren't real, coming back with some lame unicorn comment like angels and unicorns were even relatable. Right.

"Wait, unicorns aren't real?" Sam put on his best innocent face, and Dean raised his eyebrows then nodded.

"That's cute. I'm just saying man..." Dean had just called him cute. This was just not Sam's day, was it? Sam ran his hand over his forehead, trying to physically scrub away the places his mind kept going. Dean hadn't actually meant the cute comment, c'mon Sam. "...there are just some legends you just file under bullcrap."

"And you've got _angels_ on the bullcrap list." Then came the argument about Dean's total lack of faith. It was quite sad, really. But what could Sam do? Dean's faith was his faith. Maybe one day Dean would stop being cynical. Sam highly doubted it, but hey. There was always a chance and some hope, right? 

And if Sam believed in anything for sure, it was hope.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean wasn't sure what was taking Sam forever, but it was extremely not cool for the kid to just disappear like that. Dean swung the door open a little too violently, this feeling in his core that was making him way more nervous than he should have been about Sam not being in the same room as him for ten seconds. 

"Sam c'mon, what's with the let up?" Dean said it as he swung the door open, the words leaving his mouth before he ever stepped into the room. Which actually turned into bolting into the room once he saw the figure crumpled on the floor. Sam was curled up, but not peacefully, his eyes shut and his body slack. Every single nerve went off in Dean at the same time and he was suddenly rushing forward, his mouth automatically shouting.

"Sammy?!" Then Dean was at Sam's side, his hands quickly going from Sam's face to his jacket to his shoulders to turn him slightly onto his back.

"SAM!" Dean shouted the name, his hands fisting the front of Sam's clothing now. Sam made a slight moan noise and his eyes began to flutter open. Dean felt a rush of relief, although he was still high strung with worry. Sam was on the ground, and passed out three seconds ago.

Maybe his hands were out of place, crossing lines and throwing away all the caution they'd had lately. But Dean needed to know, had to be physically comforted that Sam was okay. He needed to feel Sam's warmth, his safety. Needed to have the beat of Sam's heart under his palm. Here, safe, okay, now.

"Hey!" Dean pulled Sam up by the front of his jacket, scooting behind Sam on his knees to help prop him up at the shoulders. Dean may have had an unnecessary arm wrapped around the front of Sam's chest at one point, but now he just held him firmly, Dean's hands unmoving on Sam until he was sure Sam was okay. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Then Sam's attention wasn't on Dean anymore, and his gaze moved up to the statue in front of him. Dean had been leaning around Sam and staring at his face for any signs of pain, so he just followed Sam's gaze now, especially since the breathy "yeah" accompanied it.

"Okay." Then Dean was getting a better grip on Sam, hauling Sam to his feet with one hand on the front of Sam's jacket and one hand gripping Sam's arm tightly. As soon as Sam was standing, the hand on Sam's arm slid over and down, supporting Sam's lower back. Sam started walking hazily towards the door Dean had bolted out of. Dean didn't let Sam stray more than a couple of inches, his hand hovering over the small of Sam's back as they neared the door. 

When they stepped through, Dean gripped Sam's arm tightly, not even caring that it was probably not acceptable to still be touching Sam. Dean kept his eyes on his brother the whole time, closing the door behind them with his free hand, which quickly became occupied with Sam's shoulderblades once the door was closed. Dean normally wasn't the staring type, but there was no way he was going to let Sam out of his sight, or more than an inch away, after the kid had just collapsed on the floor.

"You saw it, didn't you?" They were walking next to pews now, so there wasn't enough room to still keep his hands on Sam and not trip over something. But Dean supposed his touch had probably overstayed its welcome anyways.

"Yeah." Dean raised his arms in annoyance when Sam didn't elaborate on that at all. Just _yeah_. "Dean, I saw an angel."

That was when Sam lost him, and Dean decided that he was probably going to have to take the rest of this case on his own. If Sam was that sure, there was no way he'd be thinking right. Great.

So Dean had to not only solve a goddamn _angel_ case on his own, he was going to have to watch over his kneeling bible thumping brother who was suddenly so sure of something he really aught to be more careful about. Although Dean didn't mind watching out for Sam, in fact he really enjoyed it.

So long as Sam wasn't randomly passing out on him and scaring the shit out of him temporarily. Dean was gonna kick his ass for that one later. Although honestly, that wasn't all Dean was thinking about Sam's ass these days, and the thoughts were just getting worse. He was going to have to do something about this fast. The sooner the better. But what in the world could Dean try that he hadn't already? It wasn't like wanting Sam was a new thing for him. It was just the possibility that maybe somewhere, in the hidden depths of Sam's mind, Sam might want him too.

And what the hell was Dean supposed to do about that?


	36. Petrified (Born Under a Bad Sign - 02x14)

"It wasn't you! All right? I mean, yeah, it might have been you, but it wasn't you." Dean was practically shouting, desperate. Sam just looked down at Dean's words, his response quiet and submissive.

"Well, I think it was." Sam sat down, avoiding Dean's gaze for a bit. "I think maybe more than you know."

Dean froze at those words. His mouth wasn't filtered at all right now, his exact thoughts just spilling out. 

"What the hell does that mean?"

Sam looked reluctant to answer at first, fidgeting with his shirt sleeve for a moment before looking at Dean briefly, shy and embarrassed. And scared. God, Dean was scared too. So fucking terrified.

"For the last few weeks I've been having ... I've been having these feelings."

Feelings. God, that could mean anything. Another part of Dean lit up with fear, the part that was afraid of a very different type of feeling. If Sam started talking about that one night in the Victorian hotel, Dean wasn't sure what he was going to do. But he had to be here for Sam regardless, so Dean walked to the other bed to sit opposite of Sam. Funny how Sam had still gotten a room with two beds. Habit, maybe? Or was there some subconscious part of him that had wanted Dean here, even throughout his unmemorable blur? Dean had to stop thinking like that though, it was treacherous.

"What feelings?" 

"A couple of different ones. One part's this rage. Hate. And I can't stop it. It just gets worse. Day by day, it gets worse."

"You never told me this." This wasn't like Sammy. Something was extremely wrong. There was no way Sam would keep feelings like that entirely locked away. If this had been going on back during the angel case and everything, Dean would have noticed. He would've. How could he not? If Sam was feeling those things that strongly, Sam would have let a bit of it leak out into Dean, right? After all, Sam got pissed at Dean more than he was happy with him, so if he had new rage, Dean was pretty sure he'd have felt some of its wrath. Wouldn't he have?

"I didn't want to scare you." The words were quiet, apologetic. Dean couldn't do this. How could Dean do this?

Dean just nodded, having nothing else to do. Then he slapped his knee, standing up.

"Well, bang-up job on that." Dean had admitted to being scared like one other time in his entire life. Ever. But he was so far petrified by now, it didn't even matter anymore. To hell with not being scared, Sammy could have just killed a man. A hunter, actually.

Dean took a moment of looking at the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face before he realized something. He turned back to Sam, looking at him curiously.

"You said there was another part to your feelings. What is it?" It might be a mistake to ask, but Dean had to know. The more he knew, the better off they both were.

Sam looked up at Dean, then he followed suit and stood as well. Dean was already standing fairly close to the bed, but Sam walked a foot or two closer, making them about ten inches apart. Dean's heartbeat jumped up in his throat, but he ignored it. He just had to listen to Sam right now, not be worried about trivial things like how Sam was so close to him and all Dean wanted to do was wrap Sam in his arms and hold him, protect him from everything evil in this world and kiss him until he realized how good and non-evil he was. But Dean just stood, waiting for Sam to speak. 

Sam's gaze was deep and intense and terrifying and maybe Dean didn't want to hear this after all. Dean was just about to turn on his heel and say forget it when Sam's hand reached up to grab the front of Dean's jacket, like he was steadying himself. Sam tilted forward a bit, and Dean automatically put his hands out on Sam's chest to steady him. They were a little closer now, and Dean could feel the heat running from Sam's fingertips through Dean's chest, then out through Dean's arms and back into Sam's chest through Dean's hands. It was like a circuit, of heat and electricity and Dean was probably going to die.

"You. Feelings about you." Sam spoke out of nowhere. Dean didn't get it at first, had a hard time understanding that the word "you" was referring to Dean. Then his mind was pouring everywhere and he lost all coherent thought. This wasn't. That wasn't what Sam meant. He had to mean something else. Feelings about...about rage with Dean. There, that was it. Dean would confirm it, too.

"Y-You mean, you're angry with me, too?" Dean said it almost more like a plea than a question. Sam kept his hard stare on Dean, making Dean feel extremely small.

"No." Dean's eyes flicked back and forth from Sam's let to his right, trying to read him, do anything to better understand what was happening. 

"Dean, I. That one night, in the Victorian hotel, the hoodoo case?" Dean tightened his grip on Sam's shirt for a moment before he ducked his head, dropping his hands to his sides and stepping backwards, out of Sam's reach too. Dean scrubbed another hand down his face. This had to be some sort of really intense, realistic nightmare. 

"Sam." It was a warning. A "don't talk about this."

"Dean, ignoring it doesn't just make it go away! I-I'm not exactly sure what happened. A lot of it's hazy, and i. I don't know what parts I imagined and what actually happened. But something, something happened between us because I've got this feeling inside me that just isn't going away, Dean. It's. Something's wrong with me." Sam's voice suddenly got quiet and Dean finally had the courage to look at him. Sam was retreating, stepping back from Dean a bit more, his face coated in pain and guilt. God, Sam thought this was all his fault. That something was _wrong_ with him because of some stupid mistake Dean had let happen. This was Dean's fault, all of it. That thought suddenly hit Dean like a freight train. He'd done this to Sam.

"Sam, it's. It's not your fault, it didn't mean-"

"Dean, you have to do it." Dean froze again. What was he talking about? Do what?

"What?"

"Dean, you promised. Dean, the yellow-eyed demon, you know he has plans for me. And we both know that he's turned other children into killers before, too. That, on top of everything I've been. Feeling. For you and-" Oh god, Sam was bringing this up right now too?

"Sam, don't worry about the yellow-eyed demon, okay? No one can control you but you." Fuck Sam's confession about feeling shit for Dean, about the guilt Dean was now going to carry for the rest of his life for Sam feeling this way. They could deal with that later, what mattered right now was talking Sam off of the yellow-eyed demon destiny crap cliff.

"It sure doesn't seem like that, Dean, it feels like no matter what I do, slowly but surely I'm, I'm just becoming..."

"What?"

"Who I'm meant to be. I mean, you said it once yourself, Dean. I gotta face up to who I am."

"I didn't mean this!" Dean had meant a lot of things by that, but Sam was anything but evil. Sam was good, and bright, and he saved people. And he had responsibilities, a job he had to face up to. Not a fucking ride to crazy town on the skirt of some asshole demon who had taken everything from them.

"But it's still true. You know that. Dad knew that too. That's why he told you, if it ever came to this . . . "

"Shut up, Sam."

"Dean, you promised him. You promised me." That had been such a mistake, that promise. But Dean would break it, he wasn't afraid of doing that.

"No. Listen to me. We're gonna figure this out. Okay? I mean, there's gotta be a way, right?"

"Yeah there is." Sam reached into his duffel and pulled out a handgun, shoving it towards Dean. 

"I don't wanna hurt anyone else." Then Sam got this look on his face, the same one as earlier when he started talking about the doll case. Dean held his breath, afraid of just the words about to leave Sam's mouth. "I don't wanna hurt you."

Dean couldn't look Sam in the eyes, not when Sam was saying all of these crazy things. Instead he looked down, at the gun Sam was holding out. Sam was fucking crazy. But if Sam was telling the truth about the way he was hinting about how he might feel about Dean, then Sam wouldn't hurt him. Dean was pretty sure about that at least.

"You won't." Dean said quietly. "Whatever this is, you can fight it."

"No." Sam started tearing up. Damnit, Dean couldn't handle it when Sam cried, it always made Dean so emotional he ended up crying too. Or something. "I can't. Not forever. Here, you gotta do it."

Sam sounded so desperate, pleading, begging. Dean didn't deny Sam very often, but now. This was different. Dean just looked at Sam, looked at the tears and the way his mouth was tight at the corners and the way his jaw was clenched in an attempt to control himself. Sam looked back, his eyes just on Dean's eyes, but not with Sam's signature analytical stare, more just like he was appreciating the colour or something. They stared at each other while; then Sam suddenly grabbed Dean's right hand. Dean went wide-eyed for the split second that he thought Sam was holding his hand to hold his hand. Then he felt the cold heavy weight of metal as Sam placed the gun in it. Dean doesn't move, couldn't move, just stares as Sam in shock. Sam's body was shaky, his entire face reading with how upset he was. Dean finally looked down for a moment, broke his gaze. It was just so intense, looking at Sam like that.

"You know, I've tried so hard to keep you safe." It was the only thing Dean had ever been extremely committed to. Keep Sammy safe was always number one. Safe from monsters, safe from the hardships of life, safe from Dad's wrath, safe from the outside cruel world, and, importantly, safe from Dean. Dean still hadn't fully processed or had time to analyze what Sam had mentioned earlier, the feelings for Dean. Dean was pretty sure Sam was delusional, but truly, the whole destiny-demon-crap made Sam's "feelings" confession seem like child's play. They could deal with that later, after Dean talked Sam off the top of this building.

"I know." Sam nodded, somehow looking a little more at peace after Dean said that. Maybe because he thought Dean was agreeing to do this. Dean stared at the gun, and looked up at Sam. Looking at the tall, muscular body Sam tried to take such care of. At the floppy hair that would fall into Sam's eyes sometimes, and his huge skilled hands that could stitch Dean up like a surgeon. At Sam's strong legs, that made him run faster than Dean, which Dean was secretly grateful for, because then Sam was always a few seconds safer. At the mouth that spilled such sweet words, smooth talking victims and witnesses to find evil so much easier than Dean could. At every little part of Sam that was perfect, and special. Dean couldn't take any of those things away. Putting aside that Sam was Dean's entire world and that Dean would probably turn the gun around on himself after he shot Sam, Sam was a precious thing that was so beautiful, filling the world with a light and a hope every step that he took in his attemptions to make it a safer and better place. Putting aside that Dean felt feelings for Sam that were far more than brotherly, Sam deserved to live more than any other creature on this planet. And now Sam was asking Dean to end him. 

Dean shook his head no. It was that simple.

"I can't. I'd rather die."

Dean dropped the gun on the bed and shouldered past Sam. It was one of the most honest things Dean had ever said in his life. It was so true, it practically revealed every other truth that Dean had been hiding. Dean was fairly sure Sam had heard the "i love you" in his "I can't." If Sam was reading Dean at all, he'd know Dean was telling Sam the 100% truth for the first time since forever. Sam couldn't see Dean's face now, with Dean behind him. But Dean could hear Sam's voice as he spoke, and it sounded strange, almost foreign to his ears. 

"No. You'll live." Dean turned around, trying to place the strange change in Sam's voice. Sam had the gun in his hand, which Dean noticed briefly before Sam opened his mouth again.

"You'll live to regret this."

Before Dean even had the chance to figure out what the hell that meant, his mind vaguely registered a flash of cold incoming metal, then a sharp pain. And everything went black.


	37. Capaciously (Tall Tales - 02x15)

Sam was going crazy. Insane. If things had been tense between Dean and him before...well now that barely compared to this palpable thing between them that was growing by the second. It started off as being slightly awkward and minorly avoiding each other after the Victorian hotel, then they'd slowly gotten over that a little bit, arguing a ton at the start of the angel case and finally getting along again, almost back to normal, by the time they solved it. Then Sam had gotten possessed by Meg, and Meg had been a bitch and sifted through Sam's thoughts, touching on a few extremely secretive topics with Dean. At least Sam knew now how Dean would react if Sam brought it up. Well, at least the bits and pieces that Meg had let him see. That had been hell, literally. Then when Meg was dead and gone, they were just left with a couple of bruises and neither of them sure to bring up how to handle what had happened. So, naturally, Dean had pretended to forget all about it. Which pissed Sam off a little. Dean kept doing that, and now. Now Dean kept doing a ton of other shit too. Sam was about to kill him.

Like whoring around instead of working, and getting smashing drunk (Dean had been doing that capaciously ever since the last time Sam got drunk.) Or using Sam's computer to watch cheap porn. And now he came busting into their room, ranting something or another about his car. Which Sam had gone nowhere near. When he told Dean that though, Dean held up his money clip. Sam stared at it for a moment before he realized what it was. The bastard had stolen his money to frame him! No way Sam was letting Dean get away with that.

"Hey. Give me back my money." Sam jumped up and held out his hand. 

"Oh, no no. Consider it reparations for. Emotional trauma." Then Dean turned on his heel and shed his jacket, walking towards the bed. Sam followed him, suddenly extremely more pissed.

"Yeah, very funny. Now give it back!" As Dean pulled his left arm out of his jacket, Sam attempted to snatch the money out of Dean's right hand. Dean just quickly curled his arm in, avoiding Sam's grab.

"No."

"Dean, I have had it up to here with you." Dean turned to face Sam now, and Sam put his hand in the air, just above Dean's head, both to show his level of pissed-off had breached the charts, and to piss off Dean by pointing out his shortness. Well the latter definitely worked.

"Yeah, right back at ya!" Dean bristled up, and Sam was suddenly quite conscious of how close their faces were. Last time they'd been this close, Sam had leaned forward and closed the gap. Sam needed to get his money and _get out_ before something extremely dangerous happened. Sam was pretty sure if he wasn't so pissed at Dean, the space between them would have already been erased, and all of this tension between them would finally have been put to use. But Dean still had his money, goddamnit, and Sam seriously needed to get out of this situation. 

So Sam quickly darted to the side, reaching down to grab the money out of Dean's hand. But Dean was quick, and his hand was out of reach almost instantly. Sam quickly straightened back up, sticking his tongue into his cheek in frustration and turning his head. God, he was going to kill Dean. Sam snapped his arm out again, hoping the head turned to the side was enough of a distraction to slow Dean down. It wasn't. Dean had the money out of reach before Sam was even halfway there. Sam turned his head back to look at Dean, both of their faces darkening with anger. 

Dean's forearm landed heavy on Sam's chest, attempting to push him backwards. So it was gonna be that way, huh? Sam lunged forward, initially reaching for Dean's shoulders to tackle him down, but deciding he'd put Dean more off balance if he grabbed his waist. Well, that's what he told himself later, anyways. At the time Sam had just reached out for Dean's waist, grabbing him and pulling him down, whipping behind Dean before Dean could land on the bed. It was definitely not his smoothest tackle, but it was efficient.

The second they landed on the bed, Dean was squirming and fighting him. Sam had one arm wrapped firmly across Dean's chest, pining one of Dean's arms underneath it as well. Sam's other arm slipped underneath Dean and automatically slid across his pectoral muscles, hauling him in close, before Sam realized what he was doing and quickly let that arm loose. It was pointless though, for Dean was now snug against Sam's body. And with all of the sliding and moving Dean was doing trying to escape, Sam was suddenly extremely hot all over. Especially where Dean's ass, oh god, was rubbing up against Sam's crotch. 

"C'mon!" Dean shouted and bucked backwards, attempting to shake Sam off, but only effectively pressing his ass up against Sam's now quite obvious bulge. Shit shit shit. Sam's leg came up, wrapping over the top of Dean's hip, just a trained fighting move, although it unfortunately brought the lower halves of their body pressed together even more. Sam's head was swimming with Dean, the round curve of perfection that was rubbing against Sam, the smell of his shampoo, the way his chest constricted and relaxed as he breathed quickly, still in adrenaline fighting mode. For a moment Sam forgot why he had tackled Dean in the first place. And why had he been pissed? Then Dean's hand flailed up and a glint of silver caught Sam's eye. The money, right. 

Sam leaned up over Dean's shoulder, reaching out an arm to try to grab it away from Dean. Dean batted at his hand, but Sam was persistant, Sam tried reaching with his other hand, but Dean countered that one too. Sam would probably a lot better coordinated at this if Dean wasn't constantly rubbing a very interesting part of his body on a very interested part of Sam's. 

"Get off me!" Dean sounded pissed, but Sam was pissed too. He reached his grip out again, Sam's hand finally closing on one of Dean's. Of course, it turned out to be the money free one. Sam clamped on to it anyways, encompassing Dean's hand with his. Dean's hands were smaller, something Sam had never really noticed before. It was immensely cute, how Dean's hand just fit inside Sam's balled fist. It wasn't like they were holding hands, it was the back of Dean's hand against Sam's palm, but Sam felt a tingle down his spine nonetheless. Dean bucked again, and Sam had to bite his lip to keep a low moan from escaping. God, the disasters that would cause.

Sam had been so focused on having Dean here, his body pressed up against Sam's, Sam could barely remember to attempt at the money. So of course he hadn't noticed their wrestling had gotten them at the end of the bed, not until Sam felt the calf not wrapped over Dean's leg no longer had purchase against the bedsheets. Sam attempted to pull them both up further on the bed, which unfortunately ended up with Sam's tented jean fabric against Dean's ass again. Although this time sent a surprising wave of hot sparks into Sam's belly, probably since it had been his fault this time. Sam bit his lip again to hold back another moan, having to close his eyes for a moment. But they shot open again in surprise as Dean let out a sound, his body shivering once at Sam's unintentional grind against his ass. The sound that fell from Dean's lips was rough and low, sounding more animalistic than pleased. But it went straight to the building coil in Sam's stomach, and he nearly lost his mind. Sam was just about to flip Dean over, pin him down on the bed and kiss him into oblivion, grinding this sweet friction against Dean until they both touched the skies and never came down. 

And Sam would have done it too, if it weren't for the fact that suddenly they were falling, the soft bed no longer beneath Sam's side. It felt like forever on the way to the ground, then Sam was somehow on the floor on his back, Dean's weight squishing him painfully into the much less comfortable ground. Sam groaned in pain, his feet drawing up as he instinctively tried to double over and turn on his side. Dean slid off of him, although he barely touched the floor before he was scrambling up, tripping over his own feet in his hurry to stand and get away from Sam. Dean backed into the couch in his rush, and Sam normally would have laughed, if he wasn't pretty sure Dean had crushed his rib bones in the fall.

Then a glint of silver caught Sam's eye. The money clip had fallen out of Dean's hand in the fall, and was now like a foot away from Sam's head. Sam reached out an arm and grabbed it, wincing slightly as the movement jostled his chest. Okay, so they weren't broken, just pretty bruised. Sam brought the money to his jacket, putting in on his inside pocket before dropping his head back to the floor in pain. Then he heard the creak of the door, and his eyes opened, flicking that way. Dean was standing with the door open, only his profile visible to Sam. 

"I'm going for food." Dean's voice was flat, emotionless. Not showing the anger from before, or the fear that was seizing up in Sam's chest, or the tight bursting pleasure Sam had felt three minutes ago, with Dean's body a smooth line against his. Then the door was closed and Sam shut his eyes again. Ow. But at least he'd gotten his money back. Although the tension between him and Dean was going to be _so_ much worse now. At least, for Sam it was. And if Dean had felt Sam's body's reaction to Dean's proximity...oh god. Dean would flip the fuck out. Maybe he did. Maybe that's why he left. 

Sam was about to let that thought consume him, let the salty water in the tips of his eyes overflow, when the sound of the key in the door popped his eyes open. Sam lifted his head, eyebrows raising up as Dean walked into the room. Dean froze when he saw Sam on the floor, he must have assumed Sam would be up by now. Partially to protect what pride he had left, but mostly to avoid questioning, Sam propped himself up on an elbow then hauled himself up to his feet. He looked down and brushed dirt off of his jeans, avoiding Dean's gaze. Dean had unfroze, because Sam could here his boots crossing the floor. Sam looked up again as Dean plunked the keys to the Impala down on the table.

"I can't take the car, obviously." Still that same pissed tone of voice from earlier, when he'd first stormed in with news about the car. So at least nothing changed there. "So I'm walking."

Then Dean was striding to the door again, not looking at Sam, the bit of worry Sam had seen in his eyes when he was frozen entirely gone and replaced with red hot fury and annoyance. Sam watched him go, about to open his mouth and say he'll just be doing research when the door slammed behind Dean. Okay fine, whatever. But Sam wasn't going to take anymore of this case alone with Dean. They needed help. And a distraction from each other so they didn't have to wait to see if the other would bring up what had just happened. With a third party in the room, they could pretend this never happened. For now, anyways. So the first thing Sam did was find his phone, dialing up Bobby's number. Hell, he was surprised Dean hadn't hid that too.

Getting Bobby to come was a little difficult, the old man complaining that Sam could tell him everything he needed to know over the phone. Which was entirely true, but Sam needed somewhere here in the room with him to keep him from killing Dean. Or kissing him. Both would be equally as bad. Probably.


	38. Ruminating (Roadkill - 02x16)

Molly hadn't stopped talking about finding David since the moment they - practically literally - ran into her. Dean understood that David was her husband and all, but it wasn't until the car ride to David's house that he really got why. Molly had been ruminating in the backseat for a while before she finally spoke up.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No, Molly." Here we go. Here comes the signature "you poor little victim you" voice of Sam's, the one that had people rolling over just for him. Him and his stupid soft voice and his stupid soft puppy dog eyes. His stupid soft everything. "We're just trying to help you understand-"

"Understand what? It's you two who are being ignorant." Dean looked at her in the rearview mirror before shooting Sam an annoyed glance. It wasn't his goddamned fault for having the annoying chick in the backseat. Sam's the one over here taken pity on the obsessed girl. 

"Molly-" Sam tried again, layering on more honey, which Dean didn't even think was possible.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Damn, she was persistent. Ignoring Sam's double honey voice was practically impossible. "I mean, you two of all people should understand."

Dean looked over at Sam, eyebrows furrowed. Sam returned the gaze with a question too, he didn't know what was going on either.

"C'mon, don't you get it? Why I'm not giving up on David? You both know what it's like to be in love, I'm not blind. I don't think I've ever seen a couple look at each other with as much love in their eyes as you-"

"Woah woah woah." Dean finally butt in, giving Molly a glare in the rearview. He wasn't going to listen to some random stranger tell him how in love he was with his brother, and get his hopes up and his heart pumping at the idea that she thought Sam loved him. Or, well quote, "looked at Dean with as much love in his eyes" blah blah blah. Dean had been through enough shit lately he did not need this on top of it. "Lady, it's not l-"

"What would you do?" Molly interrupted. Again. She was good at that.

"What?" Dean hadn't looked at Sam since she started the whole crazy talk, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. Dean's eyes were strictly on the road or in the rearview, glaring down Molly.

"What would you do? If you lost Sam? If you had an argument and you thought he was _dead_. Wouldn't you go to the ends of the earth to find him?" 

Dean just sat in silence for a few moments before a bright light reflected against the window and Dean quickly swerved, bringing Baby back into her lane. God, he'd almost just had a head-on. How ironic would that be? Dean looked down at the steering wheel, at his hands, surprised to see they were shaking. Not from the almost collision, though. Dean had a feeling it was entirely because of something else. A big part of him kind of felt like just pulling over and kicking Molly out of the car. If it didn't mean people would die, Dean would've done it already.

"I-uh-that's not a fair question, it's a different circumsta-"

"Sam?" Again with the interrupting. "Sam, what would you do? If you lost Dean? If you thought he was gone forever? That you never got to say I love you?" 

Sam was suddenly flown back in time, to sitting at a hospital bedside, staring down at the broken body of his brother. Watching the tubes snaking out of Dean's nose and mouth, the huge dark red cut on his forehead, which Sam couldn't remember whether it was from the yellow-eyed demon or the car crash with the semi. Sam had reached out and taken Dean's cold hand in his, seeing how small and white Dean's hand seemed against Sam's fingers. And Sam had lost it, crying for Dean to come back to him as it all came raining down and he had seen for the first time a glimpse of life without Dean beside him. 

In Stanford, he had had Jess. And Dean had called him for the first couple years, on birthdays, sometimes after dangerous hunts, one time on a night before Sam's big test which Dean had somehow known about. Then the last phone call, where they'd fought, fought about everything and nothing. Dean had been different during all of those phone calls, something Sam had realized later. It was like it physically hurt him to talk to Sam, like he was holding back and hiding every emotion he had, especially all these new ones Sam could hear over the waves between them. Sam still wasn't sure what they had been, but all he knew at the time was the pain Dean was in. So after that last telephone fight, Sam vowed he would never be the one to hurt Dean again. And so he'd broken it off clean, not talking to, seeing, or (attempting anyways) thinking of Dean. And it had worked, Sam had been okay until Dean showed up. And then from there, Sam's entire life just tumbled into Dean's and it was like they were living one life again instead of two.

And sitting beside Dean's hospital bed, that's what it had felt like. Like Sam's entire life was being ripped in half, dragged away from him by the same demons that had ruined his life in the first place. It was the single most terrifying event, especially when it was combined with the idea that Sam had realized in that moment how badly he needed Dean. And wanted Dean by his side, to never leave, to be with Sam for as long as Sam needed him. And Sam would have done anything in that hospital to get Dean back. Turns out, he hadn't had to, but Sam was fairly sure he would've done something stupid if it had come down to it.

So Sam got it, he really did. What Molly was talking about. The only thing that really caught him was her last sentence. "That you never got to say I love you." Sam didn't love Dean, though, did he? Dean was just his brother, his pain-in-the-ass big brother who happened to be physically alluring as of late. But...but if Dean died right now, is that what Sam would think? If Dean never got to hear another word from Sam's mouth, would San regret never saying it? Did Sam love Dean? Of course like family, but...was that all? 

Holy fucking shit, was Sam in love with his brother?

It would explain why Sam had tried to kiss Dean, or why he'd been so turned on just by having Dean pressed against him. But wait, both of those things were physical. That...that was good. Right? That meant that maybe Sam wasn't in love, maybe Sam was in lust. In lust with Dean.

He wasn't in love with his brother. He was just...touch-starved, right?

It wasn't much better, but at the same time, it was fixable. Sam wasn't going to analyze it anymore, he simply decided in that moment that that's what he'd call it. He was in lust. And the easiest way to get rid of that? Just a simple hookup. Sam hadn't actually slept with anyone since Jess, so it'd been months and months. He seriously needed to get laid.

Then Sam would be out of lust, and all of the tension between Dean and him would go away.

That was perfect. That was it. This was how Sam was going to fix everything. All he needed was a hookup.

Sam finally came back to the present, realizing everyone was staring at him. He was trying to figure out a way to dodge the question when suddenly there was a figure on the road in front of them. 

The case saved him from having to answer that question, which was the best thing that had happened to Sam in a long time. Because if he tried to answer it, surely he'd get something wrong. Even if it was just lust -- which was a morbid, sickening thing to think about -- Sam couldn't give away anything about his head and Dean. Not until he got all this nonsense out of the way, got himself laid and no longer staring after a familiar body just because it was the only one in the room. 

That had to be it, right? Of course right.


	39. Cataclysmic (Heart - 02x17)

Dean was surprised. He'd thought everything between Sam and him would become more cataclysmic than it had been, after that spirit mind-screwed them with her twisted-worded questions about them being in love. But Sam either had just entirely written her off for crazy and ignored her, or he honestly had found some happy place in his head where he didn't snap at Dean anymore. It was like Sam suddenly saw some way out of the darkness they'd been consuming, and while Dean had been pretending it hadn't been dark at all, he actually just really wanted to know what this light at the end of the tunnel was that Sam saw. There was some way out, there had to be. And based off the carefreeness Sam was going through, Dean was pretty sure Sam found it. Which wasn't cool. Because Dean was still scolding himself for staring at Sam too long and dying inside every time he saw those dimples and could do absolutely nothing about it. 

At least the idea of hunting a werewolf was a bit of a distraction. Even if Sam was giving him shit about it. And the chick target was attractive, or at least attractive enough that Dean was going to argue about who stayed. Plus Dean just didn't really wanna go out and work.

"Cause I'm older."

"Dude screw that, we settle this the old-fashioned way." Sam reached out and took Dean's mug, his fingers sliding over Dean's in the process. 

Dean opened his eyes wider in surprise, which he feined for annoyment with Sam stealing his coffee. Dean's finger stayed curled in the position they were when Sam touched them, for just a beat and a half longer than they should've. Dean had a fairly good idea he knew what the old-fashioned way was, so when Sam held up his fist, Dean readied his hands too. A week ago, things had been so tense between them, Dean was pretty sure no one would have offered rock paper scissors as a solution, one of them would have already bolted to scope out the boyfriend with a grumble about wanting to get outside. But Sam was acting happy and carefree and it wasn't Dean's fault if that wore off on him. 

They didn't count out loud or give each other any sort of signal, but each smack of their hands against their respective open palms was in perfect sync. Dean squinched up his nose and kind of glared at Sam at the second hit, and by the time the third came around Dean already knew he had lost. It was the pre-triumphant grin on Sam's face. God, that grin.

"Dean, always with the scissors." Sam said it in the most intriguing, teasing, simply gorgeous tone of voice Dean had ever heard. That alone made Dean blink and stare. But when Sam's hand landed tightly on his arm, clapping onto his bicep and squeezing, Dean nearly lost it. He was about .3 milliseconds away from grabbing Sam's jacket in both fists and hauling him in, attacking his lips with Dean's own.

"Shutup, shutup." Dean's brain automatically replied, to Sam for his snarky ass comment and to Sam's hand that was still gripping Dean's muscle and to Dean's stupid minifantasies about grabbing ahold of Sam's jacket. Unfortunately though, Dean's hands thought independently of his brain, apparently, because as soon as the idea came to mind, Dean's hands were suddenly on Sam's chest. Sam's hand was so tight and warm on Dean's arm and suddenly Dean could feel Sam's breathing beneath an expanse of muscle that was hidden by the thin layers of cotton. Dean registered the beat of Sam's heart against his fingertips and he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, pounding loud enough to drown out everything but Sam. The two rhythms echoed each other, beating in tandem. The happy pulse of Sam's heart and the overwhelmed pulse of Dean's, in beat with each other. It was suddenly much too much and Dean drew his hands back as quickly as they had appeared, probably only against Sam's chest for a few seconds. It felt like minutes, but at the same time, as Dean's hands curled back in on themselves in a sad realization of missing Sam's body heat, it felt as though it was so short it might as well have never happened.

And Dean might have been able to convince himself it didn't, if Sam hadn't had looked down in that moment. Looked down, surprised, like he couldn't believe Dean's instincts when Sam touched him was to touch Sam back. Dean was about to stammer out an apology, something, anything to make it go away, that look of surprise. But that would recognize it happened even more. He had to say something to distract Sam.

"Two out of three." Sam looked at him for a moment like Dean had spoken Chinese, then he recognized the words and let out a little sigh that faked annoyance but was just trying to cover up the awkwardness that had almost just consumed them when Dean decided to put his stupid hands on Sam's stupid chest. But then Sam's intense gaze was on Dean's again, their hands inches away as they, once again in perfect unison, smacked their fists into their palms to determine a winner. 

The third smack, Dean's forefinger and middle finger flew out, a perfect V in contrast to Sam's still-closed fist. Sam's hand was on top of his less than a second later, covering up Dean's hand and physically crushing his scissor mime. Sam always fucking won.

"God!" Dean said in exasperation. Sam kept his hands there. His hands were still on Dean. Even after Dean turned his head in annoyance before looking back up at Sam. At those happy, hopeful, hazel eyes. And Sam's hands were still there. Why? There was no fucking reason for it. 

Dean turned his entire body away from Sam, stalking away as quickly as possible. But not before Sam clapped his huge hand over Dean's shoulder, lingering just a second longer than a normal back-clap did. And not before Sam was able to make a smart ass comment that made Dean want to turn around and press Sam up against the hot chick's counter and just take all of Sam for himself. But Dean just stalked out of the door in fake anger instead. And Sam knew that. He did. So Dean wasn't worried.

"Bundle up out there, alright?" It was concerned and adorable and smartass and sassy and triumphant all at the same time and Dean kept it on repeat in his head for the next hour.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Sam decided he needed to hookup with someone, it changed everything. It was like he suddenly had a purpose, and a way out. And it didn't even feel like lying to himself. Sam was thoroughly convinced a hookup would get him hooked off of Dean. Sam considered just going to a bar and picking up some chick, but for some reason he couldn't do it. He'd tried, once or twice, but the last person he'd slept with was Jessica, and some sleazy drunken girl just. That was wrong. But the cute girl who's house Sam was stuck at? She was smart, and cute, and funny, and independent. And sober. And Sam needed to get all of this tension out of his body. 

The more he started talking to Madison though, the more Sam realized it wasn't going to be that easy. She was so...different. It wasn't like Sam was in love with her, but he did actually care about what happened to her. So he was shocked as hell when she turned out to be the werewolf. Apparently Sam wasn't getting laid after all. 

But then Dean killed her maker, and there was hope. When the sun rose that next morning, the relief that washed over Sam was visible. Madison was going to be okay. He felt like scooping her up in a hug of joy. But with Dean there that would insure teasing until the end of time. Besides, Sam's body was still gravitating towards his brother's, and he needed to get rid of that. Earlier, Sam had been so confident that he'd get rid of his Dean problem with Madison, he'd taken down a few of his fighting barriers. All of this with Dean was going to be over soon anyways, so it didn't matter if Sam let himself grab onto Dean's bicep, or brush his shoulder when they walked, or stared just a little bit too long. It was his last day of lusting for the green eyes, so Sam enjoyed it a little bit. And he enjoyed knowing it had to just be his hormones, the lack of anything sexual for over a year. 

But as Dean awkwardly made some comment about leaving, Sam's eyes followed Dean to the door, grinning at his fist pump. Dean was so adorable. And how he was always acting like Sam was some kind of hero for hooking up with a chick, it amused Sam so much. Madison was less amused, but Sam didn't mind, just so long as she kissed him back. And oh she did. Sam went to sleep that night so sure that Madison would -had- fixed him with her loving.

But the next morning was anything but sweet relief, and Sam's head was so filled with Madison not being cured, it was all he could think about. He'd gone to sleep so content and full for the first time in a long time. Everything would be normal between him and Dean now, and he'd slept with a beautiful girl. What more could he ask for? Besides her not turning to a monster when the sun came up, that'd be nice. 

Sam didn't even think about Dean until Dean pulled him into Madison's kitchen, hand gripping Sam tightly as he pulled him in a direction, before he let go and followed Sam in the rest of the way. Sam turned around, his mind still on Madison. On how there had to be some way to save her. Dean just stood across from Sam, his pretty mouth set in a straight line. Dean was basically the only thing anchoring him to sanity right now, even if Dean probably thought he was being ridiculous. But Dean was right, this was the only thing left to do. Sam would have to kill the pretty girl who had made a life for herself after she got mugged, a girl who had so much potential left in her life. Sam would have to take her beautiful life away, then he'd have taken all of her, her life and her body and her sanity and her ignorance to the darkness. 

Sam didn't see the tear rolling down Dean's cheek when Dean saw him cry. He didn't see the hand Dean wiped over his face when he finally walked into the living room, seeing Sam crying over Madison's body. And it was only through tears and pain that Sam felt Dean's hands gripping Sam's arms and lifting him to his feet, carefully guiding him out to the car, sitting him down in the passenger seat and running around to the other side of the car to turn on some soft rock on the radio. Then Dean was back on Sam's side of the car, and Sam might have tried to say something to Dean through the water in his eyes, but Dean just shh'ed him and rubbed his arm before shutting the door. Then Dean was gone, back in Madison's apartment to wipe prints and take care of her body as best as he could, and then anonymously call the police, and rush back out to the car, asking Sam if he was okay before he started the engine. And Sam nodded through his tears, leaning against the window and closing his eyes.

Knowing that when he woke up, Madison would just be a dull pain and Sam would look at Dean with eyes that would change everything. Either Sam would see Dean as just his pain-in-the-ass big brother again, and everything would be okay. Or Sam would wake up having dreamt about green eyes and warm golden freckled shoulders. And Sam could deal with it then, hours from now, and a few state lines over. But not now. Right now Sam didn't want to know. He just wanted the world to drift to black. And it did.


	40. Partition (Hollywood Babylon - 02x18)

So Sam had hooked up with a chick. And Dean was happy for him, he really was. Until she turned out to be a werewolf still. Yeah that kinda sucked. Dean wasn't the least bit jealous that Sam had turned his attention to someone else. It wasn't like Sam's attention had been on Dean in the first place. I mean, it was just running into each other one time when Sam was drunk, it wasn't like they were in a relationship or anything, seriously. So Dean was definitely not jealous. And he made a point to prove it too. Even if just to himself, Dean was going to be chipper as ever and entirely carefree. Why the hell not? Maybe Sam would stop angsting now. Then they can get on with their lives and Dean can go back to secretly scolding himself for being unable to take his eyes off of Sam.

At first, Dean was attributing all of Sam's pissiness to having to have just ganked the first girl he'd been with since who knows when. But when Dean mentioned it, mentioned taking a break from the job for a bit, Sam instantly shot down still being upset about Madison. And not in the way of answering to quickly either, he just seemed genuinely better with it now. So there was no legitimate reason Dean could find that Sam was bitching about everything. He had this constant pissed off look and kept glaring at Dean for absolutely no reason. Dean spent about 10 minutes trying to come up with a possible cause, but he honestly couldn't think of anything. So he just dropped it. If Dean thought about it too much, he'd drive himself insane and get nothing accomplished. So he let Sam bitch and decided he'd keep up his overhappy mood anyways. 

Then the strangest things kept happening. Sam totally went bipolar, either in his pissy mood or an extremely strange...clingy? mood. Not clingy in a bad way really, just, well. Really attached. Dean first noticed it when Sam came running over to save him from getting kicked out of the studio. Dean had been called over, something about a smoothie? Basically he was extremely confused and mildly offended. 

Then Sam came dashing over to Dean's rescue, his sweet words and genuine smile somehow saving their asses again. But as soon as Sam reached Dean, nestled up close behind Dean's shoulder like always, Sam's hand landed on Dean's chest. Not a typical sassy pat either, it landed on Dean's chest and _stayed_. Sam was so close, Dean's hand that had just been at his side was almost in a very awkward situation. Dean turned and (kind of) gawked at Sam in surprise. Sam looked at him for precisely enough time for Dean to still have no idea what was going on. Sam's body was pressed up against his side as he turned a blinding smile towards the smoothie guy. Dean turned his gaze a bit away from Sam, the boy was shining so bright it hurt to look at when Dean was this close and could do nothing about it. Then Sam's hand wasn't on his chest anymore, flicking through the air instead to emphasis his point. Dean had never been so fully aware how Sam talked with his hands sometimes. Sam's body was still angled though, one shoulder entirely behind Dean and the other just in front, pressed up against Dean's side shamelessly. Dean was pretty sure his mouth had been open this entire time in shock.

Then Sam's arm was across his body and the entire width of Dean's shoulders and chest were encompassed easily by just one of Sam's arms. Dean felt small. What would it be like, having both of Sam's arms around him? Surrounding him, protecting Dean for once. The idea made his head swim and Dean was so out of it, he didn't even realize Sam was turning him around til he was already facing Sam and halfway through the turn. Sam must have noticed Dean's confusion because his grip was tight, his fingers curling into Dean's upper arm. Again. This happened a few days ago, playing rock paper scissors. Then Dean was facing the other direction, and Sam's hand stayed on his arm for another moment. 

Then there was a hand on his back, Sam's hand, holding him in place like someone would put their arm around their girlfriend. Sam was practically escorting him out of the place like they were in a relationship, although honestly it was much more coupley than most couples. Hell, more coupley than most _married_ couples. Dean wasn't sure if this was their cover or something but he prayed to god it wasn't because Dean could not handle acting as Sam's boyfriend. That would not be okay at all. Wait, hadn't the smoothie guy mistaked him for something? Asked him, wasn't that Dean's job? That was the only part of the conversation Dean had really heard, the part before Sam had decided to destroy any sort of personal space partition between them. So boyfriends was probably not their cover. That other thing, what had he called it? That was their cover.

"What's a PA?" Dean heard his voice ask, thankfully. A lot of his conscious brain wasn't really in his control right now, he felt like he was wading through clouds. Sam hadn't moved his hand. Was it still necessary? Although Dean was pretty sure he was about to fall over, so it actually probably was. Sam's mouth was so close to Dean's ear when he spoke, like he didn't want the air to have the luxury of the lull of his voice, like it was meant only for Dean's ears alone. Dude, Dean was so out of it.

"I think they're kinda like slaves." Dean had been assumed a slave? Rude. Dean turned his head, looking a smoothie guy behind in with a glare, which in turn moved his shoulder and knocked Sam's hand off. Sam went along with it though. giving the guy a thumbs up, then putting another two inches between him and Dean. It wasn't much, but Dean could actually breathe now without expanding his ribs literally into Sam's. That had been like torture. What the hell was that? Dean would never ask though. He needed a distraction and some comfort food. Seriously. Now. 

Turns out, in a Hollywood studio, neither of those was hard to find. After all, attractive actresses and snacks were what made Hollywood the gem it was. And Dean needed to get his mind off of Sam, and whatever the hell Sam's problem was that was making him act like his prom date one moment and his arch nemesis the next. It was too much for Dean, and honestly he was pretty glad for the occasional time away from Sam. It helped him think clearly. Just, not about Sam. Because Dean was doing everything in his willpower not to think about Sam.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It hadn't worked. And Sam was pissed. At himself, at Dean, at whatever higher power was at work here. At everything. Because Sam had woken up and realized he'd spent the last few nights dreaming about the same things. What freckled muscle would look like under the warm and sparratic glow of a fireplace. What it would feel like to push his big brother down on some shabby motel room bed and crawl up his body, capture the plush lips with his own. His genius plan had failed, and even worse than failing was what came with. 

If Sam wasn't just in need of a good lay, why was his body being magnetized towards Dean? What the fuck was wrong with him? 

Dean's chipper Hollywood high wasn't helping any. And to make matters worse, Dean kept on just entrancing Sam. Sam was using any excuse available to touch his brother, walk an inch closer. Because as pissed as he was at Dean for being attractive, he couldn't resist. 

After Sam had pulled Dean away from the whole PA problem, Dean started spacing out more and more. At first it was quite obviously accidental, actually kind of cute how distracted Dean could get. He'd look deep in thought while Sam was talking, then suddenly _hmm?_ and snap back into focus. But as the day wore on, and the one after that, Dean got more involved in his cover and Sam was seeing less and less of him. So on the rare occasion Sam was by Dean's side, all of the time wasted in Dean's space outs was upsetting. Sam didnt have a lot of time with Dean anyways, so Dean temporarily checking out during that time seemed way longer. 

By the third day, Sam was 98% sure Dean was ignoring him on purpose. Maybe he had been all along. Gradually ignoring Sam more and more until he literally didn't hear a single word Sam said. Sam was at the end of his rope. And desperate. He had to do something about Dean acting this way. Sam wouldn't be able to stand it if Dean acted this way for another day. Worse yet, Dean was enjoying his cover so much, Sam was pretty sure he'd forgotten it was a cover. 

Sam was in the process of formulating an action plan for setting Dean back on track when they finally had a breakthrough on the case. So it all got put on hold while they chased down Walter and got rid of the ghosts. After the other writer showed Sam the changes to the movie, using their phones to detect the ghosts, Sam said goodbye to the crew. They could finally blow this joint, and maybe just leaving would make Dean stop ignoring Sam. Speaking of which, where was Dean? 

Sam couldn't find him anywhere in the studio, and even the food tables had no sign of him. Sam's last possibility before calling Dean and looking like the helpless little kid was going out to the Impala. It would be just like Dean to go take snap in the backseat and leave Sam worried about him.

Sam was walking through the trailers to the car when one of the doors suddenly swung open. Sam looked up, only to see _Dean_ stumbling out of the trailer. His hair was mused, more rowdy than Sam had seen it in a while. Dean was in the process of shrugging on his jacket, the bottoms of his jeans skewed and bunched like he'd thrown them on in a hurry. Sam could practically smell the sex on him from here. 

Sam was pretty sure his jaw was on the floor, and when Dean turned to look at him, the green eyes lit up triumphantly for a few seconds before his mask came back on, his stare lax and his body motions fluid. Dean walked down the stairs, the swagger in his walk more than visible. Then Dean's Hollywood girl crush appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a blue robe with a wicked grin on her face. She looked at Dean, her shoulder leaning casually against the doorframe. 

"You're one hell of a PA." Oh god what had Sam ever done to deserve this? Sam was pretty sure she meant to say "good lay" instead of PA and of fucking course Dean was a good lay, that was just Sam's luck, wasn't it? Sam hooks up to try to get his mind off of Dean, which doesn't work out, then Dean just casually stumbles out of a celebrity's trailer without a care in the world, which Sam of course had to practically walk in on. 

"Thank you." Dean looked almost sweet as he said it, like he was legitimately honored that Tara liked him. Sam was still just staring. At Dean. Then Sam looked up at Tara as she spoke.

"Hi." He'd hated Tara to begin with, but now he hated her even more. Why the hell Sam was jealous of her, he didn't know. But he didnt say anything in return, just looked away. And his earlier anger with Dean bubbled up again. Sam shouldn't care when Dean slept around, but he did. Sam wondered just briefly if Dean cared when Sam did. But he'd just seemed proud of Sam or something, not jealous or distraught like Sam was feeling. 

Then Dean took off and Sam followed, making helpless gestures to Dean at Tara. Dean didn't notice Sam's mini-breakdown, which was probably a really fucking great thing. Dean just grabbed some sort of wrapped food and fell into stride with Sam. 

"God I love this town." Sam looked over at Dean for a moment. He was so beautiful in his post-sex pleasure. If only...if only. But Sam didn't respond, because God, Sam did not love this town. Or any of the people in it. Besides Dean. But Sam liked him too much anyways.


	41. Cascaded (Folsom Prison Blues - 02x19)

They were standing in line to be frisked and scanned with a metal-detecting rod on their way to the lunchroom. Sam looked pretty tense and was practically on top of Dean, he was standing so close. Sam always was within a couple of inches, which was a lot closer than the rest of the human population stood, but that's just how they were. Right now though, Dean couldn't take a step with Sam's toes brushing his heel, and Sam's hip against his ass. Normally Dean might have questioned him, told Sam to keep his distance (which meant stop pressing your body against my back, holy fuck) but for some reason he had a feeling he shouldn't.

The only reason Sam would stand this close would be if he was either really cautious or mildly scared. Dean knew Sam wasn't comfortable with this whole situation, but it seemed like more than that, for Sam to need Dean so close. Maybe Sam's roommate was giving him trouble. If he so much as laid a finger on his brother, Dean was going to end up getting arrested for real, but for murder instead of thievery. There weren't a lot of ways to figure out if it was Sam's roommate, plus Sam had a ton of pride, so it wasn't like he'd bring it up. That and he was probably afraid Dean would do something stupid. Dean didn't think murdering someone for touching Sam was stupid. That was reasonable.

Dean turned his head just a little to the side, and could feel Sam's breath on his ear Sam was so close. Yeah, not normal. Dean's voice was low, his words meant only for Sam. But he kept them light, trying not to show how concerned he was.

"My roommate doesn't say much – how's yours?" Dean turned his head back forwards, the soft breath on his ear majorly distracting him. Sam just leaned his upper body closer, his chest brushing Dean's shoulderblades and his head practically over Dean's shoulder. So much for getting rid of the distraction, Sam was breathing on the side of his neck now.

"Just keeps staring at me... in a way that makes me ... really uneasy." Dean bristled a little, but he couldn't do much about staring. After all, Sam was an attractive kid. But it still didn't make him feel any better, knowing that someone was staring at his brother. Dean had spent a lot of time being jealous in the past few weeks, but now a new surge of jealousy flowed up through him. It was one thing for Sam to sleep with a chick, he was human and he had needs. Dean had done the same, and not at all as payback, no sir. Because that would be immature and childish, why would Dean sleep with a girl just because Sam had? Haha no way. But anyways, it was different when it was a guy sizing up Sam's expanse of wide shoulders and firm muscle. That just really pissed Dean off. No man had a right to look at his little brother like that, no matter how unlittle Sam was now. It still was a surefire way for Dean to end up slugging some guy. It may be a bit overboard, getting in a fight just because someone _looked_ at Sam, but whatever. Dean hated being jealous.

"It sounds like you're making new friends." Dean was being lighthearted for Sam's sake. If a guy staring was enough to set Sam off into koala bear mode, they were way worse off than Dean thought.

"Dean." Sam shuffled his weight behind Dean, like he was vaguely uncomfortable, but each shift brought him closer to Dean, so it was like he was uncomfortable being further away from Dean than pressed up against his back. The junction of Sam's thigh and hip was pressed lightly against Dean's ass now and Dean had to focus a lot to listen to Sam. He turned his head to the side, letting Sam's breath be on his cheek now, anything to distract him off of Sam's proximity. "This is, without a doubt, the dumbest, craziest thing we've ever done. And that's in a long, storied career of dumb and crazy."

"Calm down." It was a direct order, but Sam listened without too much complaint, just a scoff. Dean could feel Sam's muscles tensing up as he was scolding dean about the dumb and crazy plan. Sam all riled up was going to be a really bad idea, Dean had to keep him subdued enough not to draw more attention than he already was. Sam was 6'4 and gorgeous, after all. He was kind of hard to miss. "It's all part of the plan."

"Oh really? So Henriksen showing up was part of the plan?" Dean couldn't see Sam's face, but he knew exactly the sassy expression Sam was wearing. Sam was still freaking out a little too much for Dean's liking.

"Yeah, that guy moves a little faster than I thought." Dean turned his head towards Sam as he spoke, ignoring how goddamned close their faces - mouths - were. "Look, all we gotta do is find this ghost, put the sucker down... then grab ourselves a couple of teardrop tattoos."

"That's not funny." Dean tilted his head in acknowledgement. It wasn't quite that funny, especially considering they just got tattoos (that had been a mess of an adventure. Sam had been a smartass and unfairably pain tolerant, teasing Dean and offering to hold his hand when Dean cried out. Dean had nearly killed him), but Dean needed to lighten the mood. "Dean, what about this escape plan? It –"

"It's a 100 percent sure thing. I wouldn't have gone if it wasn't." Well, Dean would have gone, but not with Sam. Dean would never put Sam in danger without knowing he could save Sam from it. If this case had popped up while Sam had been at Stanford, Dean would have taken it without an escape plan at all, just winged it for fun. Damn, he had been reckless back in the days that he didn't care if each hunt had the possibility of ending his life. "I mean, come on, man, this place has all the signs of a haunting. Innocent people are dead. Four so far."

Sam laughed his sarcastic sassy laugh, a wave of warm breath ghosting over the back of Dean's neck. "Yeah, innocent."

"You from Texas all of a sudden? Just because these people are in jail, doesn't mean they deserve to die. If we don't stop this thing, people are going to continue to die. We do this job wherever it takes us."

"Look, Dean, just be straight with me, all right?" Dean was going to ignore the pun in that sentence that Sam had ignorantly put in there. "You're doing this for Deacon."

"Damn right."

"Well, you barely even know the guy." Sam's voice was so soft when he spoke low, all nestled up next to Dean's ear. Maybe this plan hadn't been a great idea after all. But a debt is a debt and Dean payed all of them. He turned his head again towards Sam, raising his eyebrows as he explained.

"We know he was in the Corps with Dad. We know he saved Dad's life. We know we owe him."

"But don't you think he's asking a little much?" It was a little much, and Dean was still a little reluctant about having Sam here, especially since he had been deemed the new eye candy for the men population. But Dean needed him for the plan, plus being away from Sam for a week did not sound like fun. And he was pretty sure Sam would be pissed all week, considering that Dean would be in prison without backup and Sam got worried about the little things.

"It doesn't matter. We may not be saints, but we're loyal and we pay our debts. Now, that means something to me, and it ought to you." Sam just responded by shifting his weight a little, which was enough of a recognition for Dean. "I'm not thrilled about this either, man, but Deacon asked us to hunt this thing down, and that's exactly what we're going to do."

Sam stood in silence as the man in front of Dean got frisked down and metal detected, but as they ushered that guy on and motioned to Dean, Dean could feel Sam tense up behind him. Dean reached out his right hand and pat the side of Sam's leg, the only place Dean could reach when Sam was pressed against his back. Then Dean stepped forward, putting his arms out like instructed. 

"Hey, hey, careful with the merchandise," Dean said, teasingly raising his eyebrows at the guard patting him down. The guard had just been patting Dean's ankle, but he still looked extremely not amused. Dean put his tongue in his cheek and sighed. No sense of humour around here. "Ookkay then."

Dean was pushed forward, the monotone _next_ drawling out behind him. Dean walked about four feet away, quickly, then turned around and stopped. He didn't want to be close enough to the guards to get scolded, but he wasn't going to leave Sam to be frisked all by himself. Sam was complacent while they pat him down, seemingly much more comfortable around the guards than the other inmates. Which was understandable, considering Sam. 

None of the guards managed to do anything to piss off Dean while patting down Sam, so he shot them only a mildly dirty glare as they pushed Sam forwards. Then Sam was at his side again and the guards were more than forgotten. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean was in the process of finishing the disgusting chicken Sam had pushed at him as he explained to Sam what he had on the case. It wasn't much, definitely not enough to ease Sam's nerves. As much as being in here made him extremely uncomfortable, he was pretty sure that wasn't the worst part. Sam was partially terrified that Dean would do something stupid, get them separated. And this place was scary enough as is, Sam didn't want to have to face it without Dean across the hall, always in sight if Sam needed. 

Sam was looking around the cafeteria as Dean spoke, his eyes filtering over the other inmates. He watched them all warily, reminding him of his other worry, one that was nearly as strong as fearing Dean's stupidity. He was scared of those beautiful green eyes, that wickedly teasing smile, the curve of Dean's ass in the orange jumpsuit that really shouldn't be flattering on anyone but somehow was on Dean. Sam just knew he wasn't the only who saw it. Sam watched as other men turned their heads when Dean passed their table. Dean's cocky spirit was helping any either, and Sam was pretty sure someone, or a few someone's, was going to pull Dean out of the cafeteria and have their way with him if they could. And if there was enough men in on it, and Sam had already counted and sized up everyone, there definitely were enough available, they might be able to overthrow Dean. Dean could probably take on four really tough customers, but there were over ten staring. So of course that made Sam even more nervous than he had been before. And Dean had no idea, was probably not even considering the possibility that he might get jumped and taken advantage of. And those pretty lips? Sam knew he wasn't the only one in this room who had made a mental note of what they'd probably be great for. Sam's eyes were watching Dean's mouth now, and he realized Dean's lips were moving. Dean was still speaking, shit. Sam tuned back in, pushing his worries about Dean aside for a moment.

"They just opened that back up. That's when the killings started."

"So you think his spirit was released somehow?"

"Mm-hmm." Dean tilted his head, his mouth full of chicken. Sam had no idea how Dean ate that stuff.

"But what if he was already cremated?" Sam was keeping his voice as calm as possible, considering how Dean had suddenly gotten worried when Sam had raised his voice like .3 notches earlier, urging him to calm down. 

"I'm guessing there's something in the old block that's keeping him around. And whatever it is, we got to find it. And, uh, you know the rest." Dean put down his fork, clapping his hands once. "I'm done."

Dean stood up and turned, knowing Sam would follow him. Sam had a slight delay, having to scoot Dean's tray back on the table since it was about to fall off. Sam kept his head turned towards it for a moment, making sure it didn't still fall. He was just about to turn his head back towards Dean when his body was suddenly jolted sideways. A heavy _oof_ fell off of Sam's lips and he turned his head with his body, seeing who he had ran in to. Shit, it was a huge, extremely mean looking prisoner. Sam fumbled for words, knowing his height was going to make him look much more malicious than he was.

"Sorry. I –" Sam pointed at Dean, although he was attempting to just point in the direction he was trying to go, somehow trying to convey how unintentional it had been to bump into the man.

"Watch where you're going." The man's voice was rough, and he looked like he didn't understand at all what Sam was trying to say. Sam tried again.

"Yeah. Sure. I just –" Sam could feel Dean bristle across the room the moment Sam had made his oof sound, but now he could feel that raw anger as it approached his back, a warm beacon that Sam was pretty sure felt palpable. He wondered for a brief moment if anyone could feel Dean's anger the way he did. Then Dean was in sight, stepping up next to Sam, his fingertips brushing Sam's forearm in a touch that was certain to be intentional. Sam wasn't sure if it was intended for comfort, or just making Sam aware of his presence. Which would be practically impossible not to be aware of. Then Dean took another step forward, passing Sam and getting closer to the inmate.

"He said he was sorry." Shit, this was extremely not necessary. Dean may have been hiding it in his voice and body language, but Sam knew Dean was inwardly fuming. This was bad, really bad.

"Dean..." Sam said it softly, like it was a private word, but Dean just advanced further, ignoring Sam entirely. There was nothing Sam could do now that wouldn't make Dean turn his anger on Sam. Sam really could prevent whatever was about to happen, but if he grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him away, not only would Dean bitch out Sam for treating him like his little bitch, the conflict with the inmate wouldn't be solved either. And if Dean didn't even acknowledge Sam, hadn't since they'd been sitting down, then there was no way Sam could talk him out of it.

"You talking to me?" Sam couldn't see Dean's face, but the set of his shoulders let him know that Dean's glare was intense and would make a normal civilian melt in terror. "Are you talking to me?"

Dean turned his head to the side, aiming the words at Sam, but only for effect, not actually talking to Sam. It was clear from the way Dean had angled himself away from Sam that he didn't want Sam involved. 

"Great, another guy who's seen "Taxi Driver" too many times. Yeah, I'm talking to you. Trust me. Let it go."

The inmate turned on his heel and walked away. When he was out a few feet, Dean finally turned to Sam. Sam reached out his hand to grab Dean's arm and pull him, but Dean stopped walking just out of Sam's reach.

"Dean, come on." Sam didn't know why Dean was so butthurt over a guy bumping into Sam, people bumped into Sam all the time on sidewalks and such. Dean always glared at them, occasionally threw nasty comments and grabbed Sam's arm to tug him, but now Dean was acting like the guy had crossed some serious lines and was an actual threat to Sam. And it wasn't like Sam was helpless, he could definitely hold his own, and was better than Dean at martial arts, even if Dean's punch was a bit more compacted than Sam's. But Dean felt compelled to handle this alone for some reason, and Sam wasn't sure what that proved besides that they were closer than the rest of the inmates in here. Dean was acting like the protective boyfriend and it was odd.

"See, that's how you got to talk to these guys." Dean winked, looking absolutely ridiculous. "Instant respect."

Sam looked over Dean's shoulder to see the angry inmate talking to a huge prisoner, who was sitting at a nearby table. The huge guy stood, slowly, and started advancing towards them.

"You were saying?" The words came out a little bit more scared sounding than Sam intended. Sam was scared for himself, not at all, but Dean was either going to do something stupid or get his ass handed to him. The huge guy followed the angry one towards them, and the rest of the prisoners started to form a circle, all looking on like it was some sort of game. 

"Oh, great." Dean was only a foot in front of Sam when the angry inmate threw a wild punch, and Dean leaned backwards ridiculously far, almost brushing his head against Sam's chest in the process. Then Dean caught the prisoners hand, twisting him around skillfully while managing to push both of them a foot farther from Sam. It made the move much harder when you had to change the positioning like that, but Dean was always looking out for Sam. Only problem was, it would probably make his grip looser since he was focused more on the jump away from Sam than the actual twist.

"We can end this right now – no harm, no foul." Dean had the man bent over, in half, and Sam had to close his eyes for a few seconds to push those thoughts away. He remembered Dean teaching him that move, remembered how it was back before Sam would have ever considering anything...like that. He'd known Dean was attractive his whole life, but he'd done a really great job of suppressing any sort of sexual thought about his brother, breaking them off before they could ever start. But it he and Dean were to practice wrestling now, and Dean used that move or him? Or Sam used it on Dean? Sam could only imagine the aftermath of that.

Then suddenly the angry inmate broke Dean's hold, like Sam had predicted. Dean grabbed him again and slammed him up against the wall. Sam was really _really_ glad that he and Dean hadn't practiced wrestling lately. 

Then the man stepped on Dean's foot and Dean shot backwards. He sent his foot up to the inmate, in a place it would hurt like hell, then Dean's foot hit the prisoner's chest and he cascaded backwards onto the floor. If Sam had been the one wrestling Dean, the groin shot wouldn't have happened because they both thought it was a low move, reserved only for fights you had a major disadvantage in. But considering that they were both pretty evenly matched, they never stooped that low. But only if...if Sam had been the one in that inmates place, and Dean had bent him over then slammed him up against the wall, Dean's body pressed up tightly against him from behind-

"That's enough!" A shout made Dean freeze, turning his head as a warden and a guard walked up to the fight.

"On your feet, Lucas." The angry inmate scrambled up, one hand on his lip. Sam ran his eyes over Dean's body. Dean seemed unscathed, good. 

"Yes, sir, boss." Lucas at least had respect for the warden, then. The warden took out his baton, and suddenly Sam's heart was pumping with fear. If Dean played this wrong...

"What's your name?" The warden held his baton under Dean's chin, forcing his head up. Sam watched on, his breathing not as calm as it was before.

"Winchester." Sam's name too. The way Dean said their last name had always amused Sam, how he said it like how a bible thumper said God. It was like Dean held so much honour to that name, and now he said it just the same. Like there was no other name he'd be more proud to say. 

"Well, Winchester ... not a good start." There was a long pause as the warden stared down Dean. Sam held his breath, praying it wouldn't end the way Sam was figuring it would. "Solitary. You too, Lucas."

Sam huffed out a breath through his nose. They'd been in here for a couple of hours and Dean was already in Solitary. Even worse than that, Dean was separated from Sam. Stupid overprotective bastard. A guard reached out and grabbed Dean by the arms, pinning them behind his back and pushing him forwards. As he passed Sam, Dean kept their eyes locked as long as he could, memorizing Sam like one of those kids that counted every cookie left in their box to make sure no one took one while they were gone. Sam knew if he had so much as a papercut when Dean got back, Dean would go rampant.

As the guard pushed Dean past Sam, he turned his head over the shoulder of the guard escorting him to shout playfully at Sam. 

"Are we having fun yet, huh?" Sam made a face he was pretty sure Dean didn't get the luxury of seeing, then turned his lips into a pout. Sam looked about the room, watching people watch him. His eyes landed on the huge guy who Dean thankfully hadn't had to fight. The huge inmate pointed at Sam and made a slicing motion across his neck. Sam sighed, looking down and scuffing the ground with his shoe. Then he made his way over to the closest chair, which was at the empty table behind him. Sam plopped down on it, waiting for dinner to be officially over. While he was waiting, Sam tuned in to a couple of inmates standing a bit aways and had been watching the fight. 

"Fought pretty tough for a guy protecting his boyfriend," snickered one guy. Of fucking course that's what they'd think. 

"It's been a while since a fag could hold his own around here. How long do you think he'll last?" the other guy responded. Think he'll last? That didn't sound good.

"When he's that overbearing on his boyfriend? Couple days. Maybe a week. But I think the boyfriend's probably not gonna be up for grabs til the tough one's taken out."

"So if he's so protective, you think he tops? Makes tall guy take it up the ass then?" the other inmate snickered and Sam's jaw dropped, but he quickly closed it back up, not wanting them to notice he was eavesdropping. He could not believe this conversation was actually happening.

"Nah, I'll bet he's overcompensating, bends over real nice and obedient for the tall one." Sam blushed suddenly, dipping his head. This was so not happening right now. Sam was pretty sure the next person that made some sort of guess at his and Dean's nonexistent sex life was going to get mauled. And then at least Sam could be closer to Dean, although the cell blocks in Solitary might not be big enough to hold Sam. Unless they had different sizes, and they had one for freakishly tall-

The dinner bell finally rang, saving Sam from a night in a even more cramped space than he'd been planning for. Sam was partially relieved he didn't have to kick somebody's ass, and partially a little disappointed he didn't get to see Dean. Sam couldn't imagine what the look on Dean's face would be if Sam ended up in Solitary and had to tell Dean why. Sam never wanted to ever have to tell Dean about the conversation he just overheard. Never ever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As much as the previous day had sucked, being separated from Dean, the next day was even worse. In a different sort of way though. After Sam had met back up with Dean outside, they were ushered into the showers before lunch. Sam had been washing his hair, thinking through the fine details of the lunch plan when he heard a muffled wolf whistle. Sam's eyes shot open and he stepped out of the crappy water pressure spray, surveying around the room. There were probably twelve guys in here, and about half of them, maybe a little more, were looking their way. Dean was oblivious, eyes closed and facing the shower wall in the spray next to Sam. He was humming something, sounded like Black Sabbath, his hands running through his hair. 

Sam was pretty sure the eyes facing their way were mostly for Dean, but a few seemed to be eyeing him too. Either way, there was safety in numbers and Sam and Dean were almost undefeatable as a team. Sam ducked his head under the pipe running between their two "separate" showers, the only things separating them was the pipe six feet off the ground and the metal beams at the entrances of each shower. The showers were in a kind of double semi circle, the wall in front of each stall housing shampoo and soap. Or sometimes just one or the other. Dean's had both, because there were suds in his hair and Sam could see the soap sitting on the ledge. 

"Dean." Sam spoke Dean's name softly, as he straightened up in Dean's shower. 

"Hmm?" Dean kept washing the shampoo out of his hair, just barely acknowledging Sam. A few of the men looking their way had clumped together and were looking on as a group now. That meant trouble. Lots of trouble. 

" _Dean_." Sam added a bit of urgency to his voice, still not letting the words be loud enough for the other prisoners to hear.

"What, Sammy?" Dean turned his head towards Sam's shower, opening his eyes. When he didn't see Sam there, he began to turn around in confusion. Sam grabbed Dean's left hip, since that's the direction he'd been turning and most of the guys staring were on the right. Sam tightened his grip, holding Dean in place and not letting him turn around, making him stay faced to the wall. Dean smacked Sam's hand, hard, and it stung, but Sam just grimaced and kept his grip.

"What the hell, Sam? Get the fuck out of my shower!" Dean thankfully hissed the words more than shouted them, although the commotion was still drawing attention from the few men who hadn't already been staring their way. Dean reached to smack Sam's hand again, but Sam caught Dean wrist, twisting his arms awkwardly on top of each other instead of reaching around Dean's body to grab it. Because that would be crossing so many lines it would be a disaster. 

"Dean! Calm down!" Dean still struggled a bit, turning his body just a little so he could turn his head and look at Sam. Sam caught his gaze - damn, Dean was pissed - and tilted his head to the right. Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion for a second before he turned his head the other way, ripping his wrist out of Sam's fingers in the process. Sam pinpointed the exact moment Dean recognized the threat, his shoulders bristled up and his hands curled into fists. 

Dean faced back forward again, the shower water hitting his arm. Sam was considering taking his hand off of Dean's hip now, but Dean looked like he was in fighting mode, so Sam better not. Just so long as he didn't look at his hand, or below it, or anywhere below Dean's neck, Sam would be fine. There'd been plenty of times he'd seen Dean shirtless, the guy slept without a shirt sometimes. And Sam would occasionally notice the freckled shoulders, even when he was trying not to, but now was really not a good time. Not when they were surrounded, and not at all in a good place to fight, with all this slippery water and lack of clothes thing. They'd fall on their bare asses before they even got in a good punch. 

Dean turned his head to the side, the left, away from the men and towards Sam. His eyes were narrowed into fighting mode, which was super not good.

"I'm gonna kill 'em. Freaking pervs checking out my baby brother." The words were low and quiet, and dangerous. It took Sam a moment to register what Dean said, then the words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was going to say them.

"What? Dean, they were looking at you. Well, most of them anyways." Sam's words were hushed too, and he leaned forward just a tad to say them. He kept about a foot of distance in between them though, considering the fact that they were both naked and Sam was wildly attracted towards Dean's body. Which he had been pretending to forget. But was kind of impossible in moments like this.

Dean's pissed expression changed to confused. Sam thought he'd be cocky, but he looked genuinely surprised.

"Wait, so you didn't come over here because you were scared? You came over cause you thought they'd get the jump on _me_?" Sam ducked his head and blushed. Well, when Dean put it like that, it sounded romanticized. And Sam had kind of come over on both reasons. Sam decided he wasn't going to really deny or confirm either of Dean's questions, though. It would lead to way too complicated answers that Sam was sure to fuck up in some way. Dean suddenly swiveled a bit, Sam's hand sliding from grabbing Dean's hipbone to resting with his fingertips against Dean's abs and his palm on Dean's v-muscle. Sam swallowed, suddenly aware of green eyes on his and he really hadn't intended for his hand to end up there. Dean was waiting for an answer, and the quicker Sam gave it to him, the quicker Dean would turn away and Sam's hand could be saved.

"Somebody cat-called and they all were looking our way, and you were still humming Black Sabbath, so yeah, I figured I'd come save your ass for a change. Literally." Dean wrinked up his nose at that, and Sam flinched in anticipation of a smack that didn't come. Which was probably a good thing, because drawing attention would be a disadvantage. Dean quietly muttered something about Sam having a mind in the gutter, but then his body turned back to the wall, which made Sam's hand slide back to resting on Dean's hip bone. Sam continued the slide, sliding his hand slowly all the way off of Dean's skin, timing it so it looked unintentional, like it being there in the first place had been unintentional. Either it worked, or Dean didn't care about his hand. Or maybe he just didn't feel like making a scene and trying to smack it again.

"So what now, then? We take em down in our birthday suits? No offense, but I'm pretty sure you'd fall on your ass before you got a good punch in." Sam made a face, but that's what he'd been thinking earlier, so he didn't actually take offense. 

"No, if we manage to not get jumped before the dry-off-for-lunch bell, we'll be fine. But, knowing you, you probably would've dropped the soap and given everyone a show, so I figured I'd save us both the fight."

"Aw, looking out for me, huh kiddo?" Dean snickered and took a step forward into the spray, and Sam was not following the water from Dean's hair down his neck as it raced down the curves of his spine to the deep dip of his lower back and pooled just above...oh god. Sam snapped his eyes back up, and just in time, because Dean was turning his head, holding out something to Sam in his hand. Sam looked at Dean curiously, then reached out to grab whatever it was. Something slippery slid into Sam's hand, then just as quickly slid out and clattered to the floor. Sam looked down, seeing the soap now sitting on the drain. Sam quickly shot his gaze back up to Dean's eyes, glaring at him. 

Dean bit his lip and smiled, his eyes twinkling with laughter. Sam just glared harder. Finally he pointed down at the soap, not looking down though, for fear his eyes would stop somewhere else on the way down.

"I'm not picking that up." 

"Good, don't. I was just making a point." Dean turned back around, humming again as he washed the final suds out of his hair. "Wouldn't want to have to give some guy a lickin for trying to tap that girly ass of yours."

Girly? How was Sam's ass girly? What the hell did Dean mean by that? And _Sam_ was the one with the girly ass? Dean's ass could win bubblebutt awards.

"You think too loudly." Dean's voice interrupted his thoughts. Sam focused back in, but Dean was still facing the wall, just letting the spray run over him. 

"That's not possible, Dean."

"Whatever, princess." 

Then the bell rang and Sam was saved from further humiliation as the towel carts were pushed into the room. Sam was the first person wrapped in a towel, and Dean wasn't far behind. Sam seriously did not like prisons. At all. And he could not _wait_ to get out of here, so he could stop worrying about "how long Dean'll make it" before he got jumped by some gang interested in a pretty boy. Then Sam really would have to save Dean's ass for a change. Literally.


	42. Tether (What Is and What Should Never Be - 02x20)

"You should have seen it Sam. Our lives." Dean's voice was softer, more delicate sounding than Sam had ever heard it. Sam just looked at Dean, just watched the side of his brother's face. Dean may have just said he was okay, but this didn't feel like okay. Then Dean turned his head an inch, still not looking at Sam, but a slight smile on his lips. "You were such a wussy."

Sam huffed a little laugh, his mouth erupting in a grin. The smile faded a little as Sam said his next words.

"So we didn't get along then, huh?" 

"No." 

"Yeah." Sam blinked a few times and looked up at the wall, not sure if he should say it, but knowing he'd always wonder and this was his chance. "I thought it was supposed to be this perfect fantasy."

"It wasn't." The words were out of Dean's mouth before Sam could say the second syllable in fantasy. Dean remembered thinking that at first too, confused by the way Sam had been acting in his dreamworld, and he still could remember the moment, so vividly, that Dean had realized the dreamworld had been anything but perfect. Fake Sam had been standing in front of him, trying to explain to Dean that they weren't friends. And then he'd said those words. _That's another thing. Since when do you call me Sammy?_ Dean could practically hear his heart shattering, hear the sound of the dream falling apart around him. That's when he knew, he knew it wasn't good enough. That's when he was sure that he had to go back, no matter how much it was going to hurt, practically killing his mother. He'd still avoided it, tried to find ways to fix what he and Sam didn't have, but other things, the deaths of the people he'd saved, the living halfway across the country away from Sam, they all just piled up and Dean couldn't do it. 

And now Sam thought Dean's initial idea too, that it was Dean's perfect world. But Sam needed to know, needed to know that Dean's perfect world included Sam as the biggest part of his life. That's what Sam was. Dean remembered being a lot surprised at seeing Carmen, and a little surprised at seeing Jessica, almost expecting he and Sam to...have something. If it was supposed to be perfect, Dean assumed it'd be Sam he'd be waking up next to. But then he figured maybe that wouldn't have been perfect for them, maybe they both needed girls at their sides to be happy. Now that Dean knew it was just a wish though, he knew that wouldn't necessarily be the case.

"It was just a wish." Dean tossed aside the magazine. Carmen, she wasn't anything in comparison to what Dean would have lost if he had stayed. "I wished Mom had lived. Mom never died, we never went hunting. And you and me just never, uh."

Dean didn't know what to say. He could attempt at fumbling to put it into words, and he was about to at least try, but he honestly didn't know what to say.

"You know."

Dean really hoped Sam didn't take that the wrong way, and he didn't think he would, not in a moment like this. But it had never occured to Dean really, he'd never thought about what he and Sam did have. He'd spent a lot of time focusing on what they didn't, when all along Dean had it so much better than everyone else in the world. When it came to family anyways. The way they looked out for each other, how Sam was Dean's honest to god best friend just as much as he was his brother. How they knew each other so well they were practically in sync all the time. Dean remembered what it had felt like to live his life without there being someone out there that knew exactly how he was feeling, just from a glance. To be important, truly important, to no one. It made Dean realize just how much he and Sam had in each other. It was so much more than Dean had given them credit for.

Sam was quiet for a while, and Dean could feel that Sam's eyes weren't on him. Dean didn't turn his head to look yet, he hadn't this whole time. Then the words came, as healing as Fake Sam's words had been shattering.

"Well I'm glad we do." Sam turned his gaze on Dean, and Dean finally turned his head, looking back at Sam. Sam looked sincere, truthful, like he was more grateful for Dean than anything else Sam had ever had. Dean's eyes were threatening to water. In this moment, both of them looking at each other, Dean could feel it. He could feel how much he meant to Sam, he could feel the palpable tether between them, between their souls and their minds and their bodies. Sam was glad, for everything they had and everything they were. Dean had meant even more than getting along when he said you know, he'd meant the way they needed each other and the way they were bound together. And so much more. And Sam had heard that, in the "you know." And he was glad for it.

"And I'm glad you dug yourself out, Dean." _That you did that for me._ Dean blinked away, his head still towards Sam though. Sam didn't need to see the emotions flickering through Dean's eyes, the passion and _I love you_ trapped inside the green. "Most people wouldn't have the strength, would've just stayed."

Dean turned away, looking back at the wall. It wasn't strength that made Dean leave, it was pure selfishness. He'd needed Sam, needed to matter to the most important person in his world. Dean had been selfish and hopeful, and he'd only gone back so he could have what he wanted. That wasn't strong.

"Yeah, lucky me." It had to be Dean who couldn't have the wish he wanted, not all the way anyways. It had to be Dean who was so depending on Sam that he had to leave behind that, other than Sam, was pretty damn perfect. It had to be Dean who cared so much for his brother, he let his mother die, let his father die in a much worse way, let Sam have a shitty childhood and be stuck with Dean, instead of off living his dreams like the happy man Sam could have been. Lucky Dean to be able to take all that away.

"I'll tell you though man," Dean stood, facing away from Sam, getting some distance, because this was hard enough to say anyways. Sam might hate him, might blame him for everything that Sam _didn't_ have because of Dean. "You had Jess. Mom was gonna have grandkids."

Dean didn't mention Carmen. She wasn't really relevant. Sure, she was the perfect girl for Dean. But what was the point in bringing her up, explaining her to Sam? How she was so like how Sam was in this world, how she knew him almost as well as the real Sam did. She still paled in comparison, so she didn't matter. Sam didn't need to know.

"Yeah, but, Dean. It wasn't real."

"I know." Dean looked at Sam, his eyes full of all of the guilt that he felt. "But I wanted to stay."

Dean's eyes left Sam's shifting down and back and forth. Everything he hadn't told Sam, that Sam deserved to know.

"I wanted to stay so bad. I mean, ever since Dad. All I- All I can think about is how much this job's cost us." Dean's gaze landed on Sam, intense and honest and _I swear if I ever lost you, Sam._ "We've lost so much. We've sacrificed so much."

"But people are alive because of you. It's worth it, Dean." Dean huffed and looked down for a moment. "It is. It's not fair, you know it hurts like hell. But it's worth it."

When Dean met Sam's gaze again, both of their eyes were wet. It was the first time Sam had said it, and probably the closest Dean had ever been to believing it. _It was like everything became reevaulated of it's worth, based on the value it held in their eyes_. Sam thought it was worth it. Dean didn't know. But maybe it was. Maybe.

Dean sat for another few moments, both of them looking at their hands. Finally Dean stood again, running his hand over his face. Dean made his way slowly over to his duffel bag, still thinking and still feeling barely here. it was like a part of him still wanted to believe in that other world so badly, like Dean didn't want to have to face the reality that was his life. Dean shucked off his outer shirt, folding it haphazardly and setting it on his duffel. Then he turned back around, and Sam was watching him. Dean looked at Sam, then looked away and cleared his throat.

"I'm gonna go to bed now, 'm tired. God knows I could use some sleep." Dean smiled half heartedly at Sam, and Sam stood up off of his bed.

"Yeah, okay. I'm going to sleep too." Dean nodded, making his way over to the bed furthest from the door and pulling back the comforter and sheets. Funny it was called a comforter, Dean couldn't remember ever being comforted by a blanket. Dean usually double-stacked his pillows, but not tonight. He wasn't looking for luxury, just sleep. Which honestly, was probably going to be impossible to find. He might as well try, though. 

Dean sat down on the bed, pulling off his boots. He was originally planning to just sleep in his jeans, but he'd probably sleep better if he didn't. So Dean pulled those off too, tossing them in the general direction of his duffel and getting close enough that he wouldn't be called a slob. They almost hit Sam in the foot, who was at his own duffel and now in sweatpants and a tshirt. Dean scooted back on the bed, slipping the covers over himself and taking the pillow closest to Sam's bed. Dean lay on his side, facing the unoccupied mattress. The last time Dean had been in a bed, he'd woken with a stranger beside him, and no amulet on his chest. 

That reminded Dean, and he reached up an arm over the covers, finding the amulet with his fingers. It dangled to the side when he slept, and it was supposedly a choking hazard, but Dean hadn't choked on it yet. Dean closed his hand around it for a moment, shutting his eyes and feeling the familiar brass points digging into his palm. Then he pulled back his hand, tucking it back under the covers so the sheets came up to his shoulders. Sometimes, when Dean was really tired, Sam would come over and tuck the sheets under Dean's sides, tucking him up like a little blanket burrito. Dean used to do it to Sam when they were kids, and there was this one hunt that Sam returned the favour, then noticed how well Dean slept and it became a more occasional thing. It was impossible to tuck yourself, Dean had tried, but any time you had one hand tucking and it tried to slip back under, the whole thing came undone. So Sam just did it.

Dean figured Sam would probably do it tonight, he was pretty intuitive about these things. These things being the fact that Dean was probably not going to sleep well at all. Dean's eyes were closed when Sam shut out the light, and the incoming darkness felt a little colder than usual. Dean shifted slightly, furrowing his brow and trying to clear his brain from the potential of nightmares. Sam's sock covered feet padded softly across the floor. Dean usually would have drifted into some form of mild sleep by now, the noises of Sam getting ready for bed a repetitive thing, which almost always meant sleep. Dean didn't really register that Sam' feet padded past Sam's bed, past where Dean was laying. 

He did register though, the covers behind his back being lifted, and the other half of Dean's bed compressing. Dean rolled over, scooting his shoulder back in the process so that he didn't roll across the bed, just faced Sam instead. Dean could see the outline of Sam in the dark, facing Dean on Dean's other pillow. There was still a foot between them, but Dean could see enough in the dark to see that Sam's shoulders were set in his determined stance.

"Sam." Dean said it quietly, half a question and half a scolding. Sam just scooted forward a few inches. "Sam, I'm fine. Don't worry about me, okay?"

Dean bit his lip and looked at the dark outline of his brother. Sam's features were slowly coming in to view, as Dean's eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room. 

"Dean. If you think I'm gonna let you be alone after what you just went through, you may have more damage than we thought." Dean looked at Sam for a moment before he sighed and turned his shoulder, looking up at the ceiling. Sam sleeping three feet away on the other bed did not make Dean alone. Dean wasn't going to fight with Sam though, not now. Not after he'd almost lost him. 

Sam was quiet for a few minutes, and Dean kept his gaze on the ceiling, aware that Sam was still facing him but not feeling uncomfortable. Dean always slept easier than Sam did, so if Dean wasn't sleeping, odds are Sam was definitely not. It only took about five minutes before Sam scooted closer another few inches. Then Dean felt fingertips on his neck, and he flinched, automatically scooting a few inches away from the sudden pale throb he felt in his neck. Sam withdrew his fingers, and Dean's hand came up, gingerly touching his own neck where Sam's hand had been. Ow.

"It still hurts?" Sam's voice was barely more than a whisper. It took Dean a moment to remember, then he realized why it hurt. When he'd first woken up, Sam's hand had been resting on his shoulder, his fingertips gentle against Dean's neck as he pulled out a long needle that had been pumping Dean full of supernatural acid. The skin around the tiny hole was bruised, but not really obvious enough to see. It still hurt a little though.

"You just surprised me. I'm not used to people randomly touching my neck when I'm sleeping."

"You weren't sleeping."

Dean didn't respond to that. He just slowly returned his hand back under the covers. Dean kind of wanted to lay on his side, but he wasn't sure if he should face Sam or face away. If Sam was in his own bed, it wouldn't be a problem. Dean waited out the silence for just a few minutes before he spoke again, his voice soft and quiet.

"Sam, I'm not alone when you're another two feet away. You can sleep in your bed. Really." Dean only kind of meant it, but he wanted Sam to not feel obligated. Sam probably got more sleep when he wasn't burdened to sharing a bed with Dean. Just because Dean slept better didn't mean Sam did. 

Dean heard a ruffling of the covers and felt the bed shift as Sam moved his weight. A mixed flood of relief and disappointment filled him as Sam decided to sleep in his own bed. It was a sweet gesture really, but Dean didn't need-

Suddenly Dean was turned over on his side - facing away from where Sam was supposed to be leaving - a strong hand on his hip again, bringing a sudden memory of that same hand on that same hip, water running over them and danger in the air as Dean hummed Black Sabbath's Paranoid absentmindedly. Dean had been so off of his game when Sam surprised him in his prison shower, but thankfully nothing tramatic happened besides a few curses from Dean. Now though, Dean didn't ask Sam what the hell he was doing, he was too surprised. Besides, he wasn't pumped with adrenaline now like he had been in the prison. 

Then a warm body was pressed up against Dean's back, Sam's warm body, and Dean wondered how he had mistaken Sam's scooting closer for leaving. Did Dean think it would really be that easy to get Sam to go? In fact, his words had the opposite affect, based on how Sam was spooning him now. Was Sam really expecting Dean to tolerate this? There was a line, even if Dean was hurt. 

"Sam."

"Dean." Sam said his name as the answer to Dean's question. It was funny how they could do that, communicate a conversation with just the way they said each other's names. Then Sam leaned his forehead against Dean's neck and Dean could feel his breath, warm against the collar of Dean's shirt. Dean shut his eyes, but that made the sensation more real, so he shot them open again.

"That Djinn, you could still...have that hallucinatory in your blood. If you freak out or slip into another coma or something I'm - I wouldn't know. I have to be sure...that you're okay. Besides, someone has to stop you from stabbing yourself in your sleep again." Dean grinned a bit at that. He was fairly sure that was all bullshit, supernatural creatures didn't usually have after-effects. But Sam was worried, and Dean wouldn't take that away from him. He just sighed in defeat.

Besides, having Sam here, breathing on Dean's neck? It was safe. It meant Sam was safe. If Dean could feel him, then Sam was okay.

Sam moved his hand from Dean's hip to his chest, cradling Dean close to Sam. Dean wasn't used to being cuddled, on the rare rare occasion he spent the entire night with someone, he wasn't the cuddling type. And he was never the little spoon. Except with Sam. 

In Sam's arms it was warm, real. Nothing like the dream world. Dean felt tethered to this life again, when he could feel his little brother's chest against his back. Safe.

Dean's eyes drifted shut, after all there was no point in keeping them open, the only thing to see was darkness. Dean felt surrounded, enclosed, but in the best way possible. It was like he had the best blanket in the world, custom fit to Dean and tucked better than anything else Dean had ever slept in. So maybe the comforter draped over the sheets that wrapped their bodies together wasn't actually giving Dean any comfort, but Dean had never felt safer, or more at home. He was warm and pinned and Sam was safe, breathing against the back of Dean's neck. What more could Dean need? He had a constant reminder of where Sam was, that Sam was okay, and that automatically made Dean okay. Even if he hadn't had been so warm and safe feeling.

They hadn't slept like this in a long time. Maybe there just hadn't been a good enough excuse for either of them to bring it up or do it. Dean wasn't really sure why they didn't sleep like this every night. Oh, wait, that's right. They were brothers. In the dark though, in the puzzle pieces fit snugly together and Sam's knees curled against the back of Dean's, the thought seemed irrelevant and childish. Dean had everything he needed right here, and he'd never ask for anything different, anything more.

 

_You and me just never, uh, you know._

_Well I'm glad we do._


	43. Iniquitous (All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1 - 02x21)

"I'm just thinking about how much Dean would help right now. I would give my arm for a working phone." Sam was walking across the creaky porch floor boards when Andy's hand suddenly smacked his chest. Most people probably would have been vaguely surprised but Sam was used to much harder whacks then that. Dean had a habit of soccer moming Sam when they were crossing busy streets, his hand coming out and smacking into Sam's chest and stopping him in his tracks as Dean made sure it was safe to cross. Sam never really said anything to Dean about it, he didn't mind because he was used to it. Besides, Dean had been keeping a closer eye on Sam since the premonitions, constantly worrying about him and being a little over protective. It was the only time Sam didn't get on to Dean for getting on to him. If only Dean was here right now. Sam wasn't sure which worried him more, being in this situation or being apart from Dean. 

Sam was lucky he had a fast thought process, or he would have missed Andy's excited words that followed his light thump on Sam's chest. At least it wouldn't bruise like a few of Dean's soccermomhits had. 

"Actually we may not need one. I've been practicing this thing, projecting my thoughts like out to people, right? I've never tried it long distance before, but we could try to send your location to your boyfriend!" Sam raised his eyebrows at the last word. Andy caught his expression and his face suddenly dropped.

"Wait, you two are still together, right? I mean, I wouldn't have said anything, but you kept bringing him up like every five minutes, plus you still get that dreamy look in your eye when you say his name and you didn't have any sort of, like, negative reaction to the whole gay porn all hours of the day thing and I just assumed...oh god you hate me. I swear, I didn't mean-"

"Andy." God, when Andy started rambling there was no stopping him. Sam was trying to decide whether he should laugh or be horrified. He settled for just pursing his lips and shutting Andy up. "I don't hate you. Dean and I aren't, uh, together, we're brothers."

"Yeah, I know that, I just thought you were...okay never mind." Okay never mind. Andy thought...Sam just stared at Andy. He knew they were brothers and he still thought they were in a relationship. And he hadn't gone screaming and running the other way, calling them sick bastards with twisted childhoods. Sam had no idea what to think. There was a human being out there who either didn't care that they were brothers, or maybe just didn't think incest was the greatest sin ever to be committed by anyone. Sam snapped back into reality, kind of stumbling over his words before he got back on the track of sanity.

"Right, um, well can we try that long distance call thing? Having some outside help would be great." Sam cleared his throat and looked at Andy sideways, feeling basically extremely awkward. Any time Sam and Dean told people they were brothers, they instantly apologized profusely, saying they were so sorry to have mentioned the idea of such a iniquitous deed. And on the rare occasion, people just assumed they were lying about being brothers. But never before had someone been like, "yeah, no, I know that, I just thought you were lovers too." NEVER.

"Oh, yeah. Right, sorry. Uh, do you have anything of Dean's on you? Like, something he touched? Besides uh...body parts obviously. Not to be awkward, but-"

"Will this work?" Sam pulled a receipt out of his pocket, blushing furiously. Andy took it, nodding and making some comment about the name Dean had signed. But the things Andy said, he had absolutely zero filter and Sam was pretty sure he was scarred for life now. What body parts did Andy think Dean had been touching??

Then they set about finding a good landmark, until Sam remembered the bell. Sam had recognized it, although that didn't mean Dean would. But it was worth a shot. After Andy buzzed Dean the first message, Sam asked him to do one more, just in case, but with Sam in it. Andy had grinned slyly when he thought Sam wasn't looking. But Sam knew Dean well enough to know he'd need a reason to chase after the bell. And seeing Sam should definitely be enough of a reason.

And well, as much of a spaz as Andy was, he was still pretty helpful. Even if he kept making remarks. Lots of remarks. All about Dean. But Sam could deal with that. After all, like Andy said, Sam had been mentioning Dean a ton to everyone anyways. No one besides Andy even knew who Dean was, but Sam had kept bringing him up. Even the very first time Sam had ran into Andy, he'd brought up Dean practically instantly.

_"What’s the last thing you remember?" Andy had looked down guiltily._  
 _"Honestly? My fourth bong load. It was weird. All of a sudden, there was this really intense smell. Like, uh"_  
 _"Like sulfur?" Sam had offered._  
 _"How did you know that?" Sam's brain suddenly went to the cause of the reason he knew 60% of things he did. The other 40% he'd learned from books, textbooks and lore books and Bobby's collection and Stanford. But 60% of the time, when Sam knew something, it was indirectly or directly because of his brother._  
 _"Dean." Sam said distractedly, not as an answer but as a sudden exclamation._  
 _"Your, your brother – is he here?"_  
 _"I don’t know where he is. I don’t know if he’s…" If he's okay. God, if Dean wasn't okay..._

Then later, Sam had brought him up again. Less than five minutes later. And then even after his conversation with Andy, after it'd been pointed out, Sam brought it up to Jake. _You wanna know the truth? I got this brother, right? And he’s always telling me how he’s gonna watch out for me, how everything’s gonna be okay. You know, kind of like I’ve been telling them....I don’t know if I believe it this time._

And later still, when yellow eyes showed up in Sam's dream, the first thing out of Sam's mouth besides "I'm gonna tear you to shreds" was _Where’s my brother?_

It was a recurring pattern Sam hadn't realized until now. When Sam was always around Dean, with him, of course he wasn't going to be bringing him up all the time. But now that they were apart, it just seemed like the first word out of Sam's mouth. He felt like if these people knew what Sam did, about how Dean wasn't going to let them all rot in here, maybe they would feel okay, calm like Sam did. The only thing keeping Sam together was the idea that Dean would be here soon, Dean would come for him. 

And as Sam was stumbling away from the final fight, his arm cradled to his chest, he heard Dean's voice. At first, Sam was pretty sure he was hallucinating. Dreaming of Dean's voice wasn't a rare occasion for him anyways. But then Sam turned to the voice anyways, exhaustion weighing him down. Then Dean came into sight, flashlight in hand and Bobby in tow. Sam was vaguely aware it was raining. But Dean was here now, everything was going to be okay.

"Dean!" Sam shouted it, feeling more relieved and happy than he'd been in a long time. Then Dean's face flashed over with worry, and he shouted again, suddenly starting to run towards Sam.

"Sam, look out!" Then this white hot pain shot through Sam's back, and everything started swimming in front of his eyes. Dean was running towards him. Okay, Dean was here, the pain would be gone soon, Dean was here. Dean. Everything was going black around the edges, his body stuck in between the white hot pain and the cold black darkness filling his vision.

"Noooo!" Sam heard Dean's voice. He was fairly sure he wouldn't have heard a freight train at the moment, but Dean's voice came through crystal clear. Sam fell to his knees, his eyes closed as the white hot sparks flood more. _Dean._ Sam had seen Dean running towards him, shouldn't Dean have reached him by now? Sam just needed Dean's hands on him right now, to push away all that pain, god it hurt so much where was Dean? Dean...

and everything was suddenly gone. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a slide through the mud that Dad would have scolded. Reckless, and it meant a waste of money that would now have to go to a laundry mat instead of food. Stupid, boy. Then Dean's hands were on Sam's jacket and his sanitarium thoughts of Dad disappeared. Dean automatically dipped his head underneath Sam's, looking up at him from the height he normally did, and trying to see Sam's face, before he straightened back up, trying to use his hands to make Sam stop teetering. Sam slumped forward, almost out of Dean's grip.

"No, Sam!" Dean got his hands anywhere on Sam that would help, bring him up straightened again, Sammy couldn't be that tired. He had to let Dean have a look at him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sam." Sam fell forward onto Dean's shoulder, which normally would have been fine, Sam could do that all he pleased. But right now, Dean needed to see his face. "Sam! Hey!"

Sam was being uncooperative. Dean was so giving him shit for this later, how he was so tired a little wound had him weak at the knees. 

"Hey, hey. Come here. Let me look at you." Dean looked at Sam's face for a few seconds, no recognition in the drooped eyes. Dean pulled Sam a little closer with one hand so he could check out the new damage on Sam's back. Dean placed his hand over the wet spot on Sam's jacket, expecting a bit of blood, it was a knife after all. Dean ignored the way Sam's wound just gave, like it was deep. It was probably just all the layers Sam was wearing that made it seem that way. Dean pulled his hand back, his entire palm covered in Sam's blood. 

Dean's mouth opened automatically from shock, but Sammy had gotten through all sorts of injuries. Dean pulled away from Sam's back, going to look at his face.

"Hey, look at me. It’s not even that bad." Sam's head lolled to the side, he wouldn't look at Dean. Dean grabbed at Sam's neck, his clothes, his hands not being able to be on Sam enough, he needed to comfort Sam, bring him through this. They could get through this, they got through everything. "It’s not even that bad, all right? Sammy? Sam!"

Dean finally got a position to hold Sam in place, grabbing onto his jacket in two rough fistfuls, right up by his shoulders. Dean's face was in close, inches, trying to get Sam to hear him.

"Hey, listen to me. We’re gonna patch you up, okay? You’ll be good as new. Huh?" Sam's head rolled again, and Dean's voice was gentle. He moved his hands up, any idea of crossing lines not even registering in Dean's subconscious, just grabbing onto Sam's head, holding it gently between his hands. Dean ran his thumbs across the soft skin of Sam's jawline. "I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna take you care of you. I’ve got you."

Dean followed Sam's head with his own, moving to have Sam's eyes always on him, even if Sam wasn't responding. Dean's hands were cupping Sam's face, trying to hold him in front of Dean so Dean could see him. So Sam could see Dean. Wake back up, stop being so stubborn.

"That’s my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother?" Dean stroked his hand down Sam's cheek. The stroke may have been a little rough but that was fine Sam understood. Sam's skin was losing warmth. Sam had always felt so hot under Dean's hands. Dean had to get Sam out of this cold, wrap him up in blankets and Dean's arms and everything was going to be okay, they were going to be okay. Dean looked at Sam for a moment, his hands both back on cupping Sam's face now. 

Then out of habit, Dean reached up and brushed his hand against Sam's forehead. It was a signature move from their childhood. It was Dean's secretly multipurpose stroke. He'd run his hand against Sam's forehead, simultaneously brushing Sam's unruly hair out of his eyes while checking Sammy's temperature. Whenever Sam was ill and pretending not to be, Dean would say he was just moving Sam's hair for him so he could have vision again, but he'd really be doing the quickest temperature scan ever. Dean could tell, just by placing a hand against Sam's forehead for a few seconds if he was sick, had a temperature, or a headache. Dean's body was just extremely responsive to Sam's. Sam wasn't being quite so responsive back right now. Dean determined that Sam didn't have a fever, if anything he was down a few degrees. Which was fine. Besides, now Sam's hair was out of his eyes. So he could see Dean. He'd see Dean now, surely? Right? 

"Sam? Sam! Sam! Sammy!" Sam's eyes slid shut the rest of the way. Any sort of physical resistance disappeared, Sam becoming a 100% ragdoll in Dean's hands. Dean froze, just staring at Sam for a moment. This wasn't. No that wasn't right.

"No." It wasn't happening. That wasn't true. "No, no, no, no, no, no. Oh, God."

Dean scooped Sam up, pulling him as close as he could, their knees pressed together in the mud as Dean wrapped his arms around Sammy. Dean's hands couldn't find a place to rest, crossing Sam's shoulderblades, his neck. Finally Dean cupped the back of Sam's head with one hand, pulling Sam's face next to his, their cheeks pressed together. Dean kept his other hand gripped around Sam's back, holding him against Dean. Because. Because Sam couldn't hold himself there anymore.

"Oh, God." Dean turned his face into Sam's neck, breathing him in for a moment before the sharp smell of copper blood and sulfur and dirt and pain hit him. Dean turned his head back to be parallel to Sam's, wrinkled up his nose and pushed his lips together, trying to hold in the sob that was wrecking in his chest. The hand Dean had on Sam's neck moved to Sam's ribcage, gripping his side and back as tightly as Dean dared. 

Dean rocked them, rocked them both, like he had since when Sam was just a baby. Dean would stay here, rocking Sam in his arms forever. He couldn't lose Sam, that wasn't. Dean couldn't. He.. just, what would? How would Dean breathe? There were tears and tears streaming down his face, leaving tracks of burning skin in their wake. Dean felt it, he could feel it like it was inside _him_. Dean felt the fade, the life and spark and beauty and perfect smile and caring personality and argumentative shouting and sassy bitch faces and everything that was his little brother, everything that had always been Sammy, Dean felt it fade. He could feel it drain away underneath his hands. Dean moved his right hand, suddenly pressing against the gaping wound in Sam's back. Holding him through it, holding Sam together and letting his hand be the part of skin Sam needed there to keep on breathing. Dean could be that. Dean could be anything Sam needed.

"SAAAMM!"

The tears mixed with the rain falling lightly, making Dean's tears feel invisible, just like Dean. Dean faded too, the moment Sam did. They left together. Even if Dean's brain and body was still here, everything that was _him_ had just slipped away in his grip. Dean turned his face into Sam's neck. He'd never leave, they'd be like this forever.

And so Dean knelt, rocking Sam in his arms, thinking of how this was his first memory, and now might be his last. Dean had been barely four when Sammy had been born, but he had held his little brother, wrapped in a blanket, rocking him into sleep with a childish care. A four year old normally had no concept on how to give peace to another person, let alone a newborn baby. John had been hesitant to hand Sam over, but Mary had given Dean that beautiful smile. _Let him hold Sam, John. I'm sure he'll take wonderful care of him_. John had swooped down, baby blanket wrapped around the squirming warm body. _Be careful, Dean. You watch out for your brother._ Dean had nodded, breathless, barely able to believe that he was being trusted with that much responsibility. Dean may have only been four, but he picked up on things quickly and he could tell that Sammy was the most important thing that had happened in his life so far.

So Dean had held out his little arms, wrapping Sam into his chest as gently as a young child could. No one told Dean to, but he began to rock his little brother, a flawed pattern that probably should not have been comforting at all. But little baby Sammy had turned his face up towards Dean, and slowly stilled his wriggling. Within a minute, Sam had fallen asleep in Dean's arms. John and Mary had looked at each other, thinking it to be some kind of miracle. And from that point forward, Dean had rocked Sam to sleep for years. When Mary was on the phone with John and Sam started crying, she'd cover up the receiver, furrowing her brow together and asking Dean if he'd please go put Sam to sleep. Dean would clammer down from the kitchen table, scamper to their bedroom and climb into his brother's crib, holding Sam in his arms and rocking him until he was fast asleep again. After their Mom had died, it was the only way Sam could fall asleep at all for years. And Dean was just a clumsy boy, he had no idea how you were supposed to rock a baby, and that made it seem like a miracle Sam managed to sleep every time. But Sam always did, Sam always could. And that's how it felt now.

Dean rocked his little brother to sleep, one last time. It was just that this time, Sammy would never wake back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you should listen to the song Stay by Hurts. Yes, it will hurt. 
> 
> Secondly, thank you so much for reading. I don't know where the rocking thing came from but that hurt too. Probably because I wrote it while listening to Carry On My Wayward Son Lullaby Version. 
> 
> xx


	44. Sadistically (All Hell Breaks Loose Part ll - 02x22)

He'd never gotten to say it. Dean had never gotten to tell Sam. He wasn't exactly planning on telling Sam, especially not anytime soon, but all of that didn't matter now. It was over. Sam would never know.

Dean stared at his brother, lying still on the mattress before him. Sammy was so beautiful. even dead. Dead. Dean was numb. The tears had been off and on, just like the rain Dean could hear on the roof of the abandoned house. The rain made him sadistically happy, and distantly nostalgic. The world didn't deserve an ounce of sunshine when the brightest thing that had walked it's soil had faded and left. Dead. It was only fitting that everything around for miles was darkened by the clouds in the sky that Sam had brought. The rain had begun to pick up really intensely the first time when Dean was still kneeling in Sam's deathbed, rocking him.

The light mocking sprinkle had escalated, drops as big as blueberries pelting down from the skies that opened up. Dean kept his face buried in Sam's cooling neck, letting the rain soak them both thoroughly, it was only just. Dean held Sam as their knees sunk a little more into the mud, thinking what a perfect way to go. If Dean had begun to drown in the rain, gotten so drenched that his body waterlogged itself and shutdown, or it rained so drastically that he and Sam gracefully sunk to the center of the earth, Dean's body stuck to Sam's perpetually in their death, Dean would embrace it and go quietly, peacefully, with his baby boy in his arms. Dean had made a promise to himself, after a few close calls, that he would never go peacefully to death. Dean had been quite determined to die with a gun in his hands, kick destiny's ass. But now, and when the rain had started to pick up, Dean would go if he could. Dean would lie down next to Sam and blink out of this world right now if it was possible.

But no matter what Dean did, he apparently wasn't allowed to simply lie next to his brother and leave this shithole of a world behind. Dean had been on constant watch from Bobby, the man had been terrified that Dean was going to jump off the nearest cliff he found. He wasn't that far off in accuracy.

Bobby had tried to help him carry Sammy, and Dean had been very close to murdering him. Dean hadn't pulled a weapon, or even looked at Bobby, but Bobby must had seen the set of Dean's shoulders, his deadly silence and contemplation, because Bobby had suddenly backed up, a lot, and apologized quietly for mentioning it. Dean hadn't even heard Bobby at first, hadn't hear the old man yelling at him that they had to go. The only words that eventually broke through was "Sam's body some respect" and "killing what dignity your brother has left" and "get him out of the rain." Dean had eventually stood, stumbling as he pulled Sam up with him. Dean almost slipped over backwards, due to the drenched shoes and the mud and how Sam's soaked body was heavy as hell leaning against Dean. Dean kept one hand on Sammy's back and ran the other down his body, carefully bending Sam's knees and scooping him up, bridal style. Dean nearly toppled forward, but somehow managed to keep from faceplanting in the mud. Bobby had reached out automatically when Dean had stumbled, but Dean just jerked his shoulder away before Bobby could touch him. Dean still couldn't look at Bobby, couldn't take his eyes off of his baby brother, cradled in Dean's arms. Sam was the heaviest thing Dean had ever carried he was pretty sure, all of Sam's stupid muscle and long hair and long legs and Stanford brain all weighed a lot. He somehow got them both to the Impala, sheer adrenaline and the fact that he had no other option besides putting one foot in front of the other.

Once Baby came into sight again, Dean's tears had started up again, rushing ugly patterns down his face, even though he had thought he had cried himself dry. Looking at Baby sparked memories, of the other few times (four) that Dean had carried Sam to the car. Three of those four times Sam had been bitching the entire time, once hitting Dean's chest in protest, but instead of drawing his hand back to hit again, Sam's hand had stayed clutched in Dean's jacket. The first time had just been a broken ankle. Sam had been 13, and the whole Winchester family had been in the process of hauling ass across some pretty rough terrain when Sam had stepped in a goddamn hole. Dean had automatically scooped Sam up, continuing in their run away from the pissed off family who should have been way more understanding that their son was haunting his girlfriend and they _did_ in fact mean no disrespect by torching his grave in the middle of the night, which wasn't a usual time to bring flowers, but hey, who's normal anymore anyways?

The second time had been Sam stepping on a rusty nail, 15 now, going clean through his shoe and into his foot, making him scream out in pain. Dean had left the rest of that hunt to Dad, taking Sam to the Impala and fixing him up before driving them off for ice cream, back to the job site just in time so they didn't get mauled by Dad for leaving him with no escape plan. The third time Sam had been 16 and flown across a room thanks to a really fucking evil spirit, knocking his head against a concrete wall and falling unconscious to the ground, his arm snapping sickeningly under his body. Sam hadn't bitched at Dean for picking him up that time, only because Sam hadn't woken up until 11am the next morning, in a hospital bed with a tear-stained Dean at his bedside, clutching Sam's hand desperately. The fourth time Sam had popped his knee out of socket at 17 and 3/4, and that was the time he punched Dean's chest and bitched _extreme_ mode, complaining that he was nearly a fucking adult and he could walk fine on his own, he just hobbled a little, god Dean stop treating him like a child he did not need to be bridestyle carried to the fuckin car.

What Dean would give to have heard those words in that moment. The fifth time and it was final, Sam was Dead in his arms. Bobby had driven the Impala, for the first and last time, because Dean wasn't going to let go of Sam, let alone let him out of sight so he could watch the road. So Dean held Sam, held him in the backseat, cradled his baby brother and buried his face in Sam's chest, one arm still scooped up underneath Sam's stupid long legs. Bobby opened Dean's door when they'd reached wherever the fuck they are, and Dean took at least five minutes to get both Sam and his own bodies out of the Impala without letting his hands off of Sam or slipping in the mud that was here, too. It wasn't raining right then, and neither was Dean's face because he had ran himself dry and numb again. Bobby had let Dean into the house, finding the mattress and standing in the doorway as Dean layed Sam down, carefully arranging him on the mattress to be the most comfortable, turning his head to one side like how Sam slept. Sam hated staring straight up while he slept.

Part of Dean wanted to lay down on the mattress, curl in to Sam and wait until he died. But with Bobby staring at him, Dean didn't want to have to explain anything. Bobby wasn't going to let him just lay here with Sam and wait to die. Besides, Dean had been a burden enough in Sam's life, he didn't need to be one in his death too, so he wasn't going to depress the bed and wet Sam's resting place with his tears anymore. Dean closed his eyes as he knelt beside the mattress, holding Sam's hand in between his hands, eyes closed as he pressed a lingering kiss into Sammy's palm. Then he'd found a chair in the corner, overlooking the mattress. That was where Dean was now, too.

Dean couldn't leave, and so joining Sam in death would be hard. Dean wouldn't blow his brains out, that was bloody and messy and Sam would give him shit for it for eternity. Stabbing himself was slow and undignified, and painful as hell, Dean had done that recently in the djinn dream. Poison was unattainable without effort, there was nothing in the trunk really meant for killing humans. Dean could starve himself to death, and that sounded like hell and was kind of ironic, considering his childhood of almost starving a couple times to get Sam food. Right now, Dean knew he couldn't bear putting food in his mouth, it was impossible. So he sat and stared at Sam, at the beautiful baby boy on his mattress, gone. Dead.

And Dean had never gotten to tell Sam he was in love with him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean got in the car finally. His only real regret about going to Baby was leaving Sam by himself. Dean wanted to die at Sam's side, but the Sam-shaped space in the passenger seat would have to do.

Dean started Baby for what would be both of their last times. Dean took off, heading for the nearest cliff he could find. He wasn't, Dean couldn't. How could he breathe in air when Sam never would again? And having to go like this, taking his car out with them, it was only fair. The last three Winchesters, all dying together. Baby would be a crumpled, smoking mess at the end of this, and Dean was sorry for that, but at least she'd match him and Sam.

Dean drove, gripping the leather of the steering wheel tight enough to leave stitch-marks in his hands. Dean blasted through it, past it, at first before it dawned on him. He squeeled to a stop in the middle of the road, flipping Baby around and nearly taking them both out right there and not really minding. Then Dean was soaring back to what he'd seen, he'd been so sure he'd seen. Why didn't he think of this earlier? Dean reached it, sure this time it actually was one. A crossroads.

This way, at least Sam wouldn't bitch at him in the afterlife. Besides, Dean was a little hesitant on suicide because there was the possibility that he might go to hell for that, and Sam was surely in heaven if there was one, and if they got separated in death too Dean would kill someone. Or everyone. But he figured if he made his cliff-dive accidental, he might still have a chance into sweettalking his way into wherever Sam landed. Dean didn't deserve to go to heaven, exactly, although he had saved quite a few lives, something he hadn't even really been that aware of until the djinn a week ago.

But now, now Dean wouldn't have to worry about that. Well, ten years from now he would, but it would be worth it. SO worth it. Ten years with Sam and Dean could take eternity in hell. That was fine. So he opened up the trunk, getting all the supplies he was going to need for the summoning. Sam was worth so much more than just Dean's soul, but it was all Dean had left to give. And he would give everything until he was with Sam again. Everything.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam's back stung like a bitch, but even through his vaguely blurred pain vision, he knew Dean wasn't okay the second Dean walked in the room. The way Dean said his name, breathless and worried and everything in between, Dean had clearly been a wreck. Sam was happy to let Dean hug him, they never did that enough, but no chick-flick moments, right? Which was why they avoided talking about everything that ever happened.

The rough embrace that Dean pulled him in tugged at the pain in Sam's back, and he whined out a complaining ow.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, man. I'm just happy to see you up and around, that's all." Dean finally pulled back, looking a little sorry but not nearly as sorry as Sam thought he would've been. Dean looked awful, like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. His grip on Sam's arms was tight as hell and his face was close, closer than their faces had been in a very long time. Sam just nodded, having nothing to really say to that. Thanks for worrying about me, I'm glad to see you too but you look like shit?

"Come on, sit down." Dean pushed Sam carefully backwards, his hands never leaving Sam.

"Okay," Sam breathed out, wincing at another shot of pain up his spine. "Dean, what happened to me?"

"Well what do you remember?" Sam explained his story, watching as Dean's face was carefully poised, as Dean kept looking behind him like he was still worried. Either that or hiding something. What would Dean have to hide? Then the topic of Jake came up again and Sam stood up, despite the sharp pain that brought. Dean was on him in seconds, mother henning him and his hands were on Sam again, his face was close again. "Touch and go for a while" must have been not an exaggeration, because Dean was looking at Sam like he was pretty sure Sam would drop dead any second. Their proximity was sending all sorts of alarms off in Sam's head, alarms of stupid things Sam had almost done, and done.

That first time, when he'd almost kissed Dean after he slammed him up against a wall for saying they could never get Jess back. Just before the yellow-eyed demon had possessed Dad and then hit them with a freaking semi. The second time, stitching Dean up after some shitty hunt and almost kissing him then. The third time, brushing his lips against Dean's in that hotel. At least, from what he remembered. Sam didn't need that again right now, not when Dean looked like shit. And was currently flipping out at Sam just for standing up.

"Woah woah woah, easy man _damn_. You just woke up alright, let's get you something to eat, huh? You want something to eat?" Sam nodded, not looking at Dean, at the pain and worry in his face. "I'm _starving_."

As Dean ordered pizza, Sam sat at the table fiddling his thumbs. When Dean got back, making some lame remark about the delivery guy's surprise at where they had to deliver it, Sam looked up at Dean, really _looked_ at him this time. Sam furrowed his eyebrows and took in Dean's whole body, starting at his shoes and going all the way up, taking careful note at his chest and head. Dean was frozen, staring at Sam with doe eyes.

"What?" He finally asked, not even managing to throw in some stupid comment about Sam checking him out. Sam looked at Dean for another moment, glaring a little.

"When was the last time you ate?" Dean's eyes flashed with recognition and he shot his eyes to the side, not looking at Sam as he slowly made his way to the other side of the room, avoiding Sam as much as possible while keeping Sam in Dean's mother hen protective distance. "Dean."

"I uh. It's been a little while." Sam heard the guilt in Dean's voice. Little while? God, if Dean didn't even say a time amount it was worse than Sam thought. No wonder he looked like shit. Sam calculated out a guess in his head. When Sam had first gone into the restaurant he got snatched at, they both hadn't eaten since breakfast. And Sam was pretty sure Dean hadn't gotten his burger that night after all. So that was two meals. Then the next day, if Dean had managed to get to them, he probably hadn't eaten at all. Bobby had probably forced some sort of liquid or water down Dean's throat to keep him vaguely alive, so water probably wasn't a problem. But that was at least three more meals the day Sam was gone. And if Sam was touch and go, Dean clearly hadn't eaten then either. And say that had been a whole day, and it was mid-day now, that meant a total of...at least seven meals. Unless Sam was out for longer than just a day of touch and go.

Sam bit his lip to keep from yelling at Dean. The wreck Dean was in right now, a stern talking to would probably knock him over. Sam could bitch him out for it later. Now, they had bigger worries. Like stopping Jake and that yellow-eyed son of a bitch. Then Sam could lecture Dean all he liked about how stupid and reckless and goddamn unsafe it was for him to go days without eating.

God, could Dean really not look out for himself?

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam let Dean play his Boston tape on loud without complaining all the way to the next motel. Sam sat in silence, aware of the slight grin on Dean's face and pretending not to be holding back the monumental flood teasing at the corners of his eyes. The demon was dead, and Dean wanted to celebrate, and all Sam could do was think about Dean's stupid deal. A year. How could Dean dare? After everything, how could Dean do this to Sam? This was day 365, and Sam was counting down every single fucking day and he was getting Dean out of this before they reached 300 left. At the latest.

When Dean finally pulled in to a motel, another nameless, moonlit motel that was so goddamn familiar, Sam stayed in the car while Dean got them a room. When Dean got back, Sam was still in the car. Normally he'd get out and get their things, wait for Dean to point him in the direction of a room, wait for Dean to catch up with the other duffel and the key. Now, though, Sam couldn't move. He had to sit here, outside was cold and unwelcoming and absent of _Dean_ , but the inside of the Impala was warm and still smelled of Dean's leather jacket and nameless hotel shampoo. When Dean came out with the key, he looked at Sam curiously through the windshield. Sam only met his eyes for a moment before he looked down at Dean's chest instead. Dean heaved a sigh, probably thinking what a buzzkill Sam was. Sam did not give a fuck.

He only got out of the car because Dean was suddenly out of sight, back at Baby's trunk. Or well, that's what Sam assumed, but he almost hit Dean with the door as he turned to open it. Dean jumped back, cursing automatically under his breath. _Dammit, Sam_. Sam didn't apologize. He kind of wished the door had hit Dean. But the other half of him wished that Dean would just come here and let Sam hold him. Okay, that portion was a little bigger than half.

"You comin, Sasquatch?" Dean held the door open and leaned down a bit, looking at Sam who had his legs swung out of the car. Sam sighed and got out the rest of the way, standing up and suddenly aware that Dean was inches away from him. Again. Sam swallowed and backed up a step, smacking the car. Dean reached out for Sam's arm, trying to steady Sam. Sam didn't look at Dean, he looked down at his suddenly shaking hands. Dean was going to die. What was Sam supposed to do? Sam finally tuned back in, catching the second half of Dean's words only because Dean's other hand had landed in the middle of Sam's chest.

"...hey, Sammy, you with me? Sam? C'mon, talk to me man. Hey, hey, hey Sam!" Sam brought his head up to look at Dean again with a snap, his eyes landing on the worried green of his brothers. Dean had Sam pressed to the Impala, one hand on Sam's arm and the other on his chest. Sam still felt cold. He needed blankets. And to hold Dean. And never let him go. Sam could just hold Dean in his arms for the next 365 days, keep him safe until the deal was over and called off and they got to live the rest of their lives bickering in the car about which movies were better and whether Dean's ideal meal counted as food or not.

Sam nodded, watching Dean as he took a step back and took his hands off of Sam. Dean looked guilty, sticking a hand in his hair and mumbling something about Sam going all dead on him again, he only had one soul to give up. Sam didn't think it was funny. He turned and closed the passenger door, following Dean to the trunk and grabbing his duffel, starting towards the motel and not waiting for Dean. Dean had to speed walk to get ahead of Sam, to open the door in time.

Sam dropped the duffel and his jacket to the side as soon as he walked in, closing the door behind him. Dean put his duffel and jacket down on the table, before turning to Sam. Sam walked over to the nearest bed, the one that was normally Sam's, and sat propped on the edge of it, staring at his hands, clasped together in his lap. Dean sat down carefully next to Sam, the squishy mattress making Dean tip a little sideways, his thigh brushing Sam's.

Dean reached out and almost put his hand on the small of Sam's back, like he always did when Sam was in pain mentally. Sam could feel the ghost impression of his hand as Dean's hand froze centimeters away from Sam's jacket, remembering seconds in time that there was an extremely painful, and oh wait, deadly, knife wound in Sam's back there. Dean took his hand back hesitantly, sitting it awkwardly in his lap like he didn't know what else to do with it.

Sam finally lifted his head, turning to look at Dean. Dean looked back, his eyes upset and apologetic. That wasn't good enough. Sam blinked, trying to keep back more tears that were threatening to fall. A tear slipped out anyways, rolling down Sam's cheek in a single path. It was cold and wet and Sam didn't want to cry. Then Dean was brushing it away, his palm open on Sam's cheek, his thumb rubbing across the tear gently to dissipate it. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his head into Dean's hand. Dean was so warm and close and safe and home and what the hell did Sam ever do to get that ripped away from him?

Sam opened his eyes again, watching Dean watch him. Sam reached up and placed his hand on Dean's cheek too, mirroring his brother. Dean's surprise showed in his eyes for a few seconds, then it dulled back into the same sorry pain. Sam wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, holding each other's faces as Sam fought back tears, their thighs touching and eyes locked. Dean's face was tilting slightly into Sam's hand, a little shyly like he wasn't used to being comforted like this. Sam wasn't either, but Dean was more likely to brush away Sam's tears than Sam was Dean's. Only because Dean didn't ever really cry. Even when Dad died, Dean had just been numb. A few tears, yeah, but never in a time and place where Sam could hold him. Now though, Dean was still, both of them equally comforting and being comforted.

Sam looked at Dean, his eyes trapped in the green ones of his brother. His big brother, who was stupid and reckless and so caring and loving and just threw away not only his life, but the rest of his eternity too, damned to hell for Sam. Dean was his everything. Dean always would be.

Sam leaned forward, brought Dean's head a little closer to him as he closed his eyes slowly. Their lips met somewhere in the middle, barely touching at all at first before Sam pulled Dean's head towards him more, their lips pressed together in an unmistakeable show of affection. There was no denying this was a kiss, but the only thing Sam could think about was Dean and his mouth, beneath Sam's. Dean's lips were soft and plump against Sam's, slightly wet at the seam. Dean's hand was still on Sam's cheek, but Sam couldn't tell if Dean was freaking out, or kissing him back. Sam's lips stayed puckered against Dean's for what felt like all of eternity, like maybe Sam was immortal, maybe they had both just stepped into a world they would never die in, never be further apart than this, and Sam had never felt more alive than with Dean's mouth against his.

Then Dean's head tilted a little, and he pressed those lips against Sam, his lips parting to slide across Sam's. Sam had a rush of tingles and warmth and life and immortality rush down his spine, all the way to his toes. It felt like nothing Sam had words for. Divinity. Heaven. Bliss. Life. Nothing was enough, Sam would have to make up a new word for this, for how this felt. Dean's mouth slid almost closed again before opening up against Sam's again, wetting both of their lips as they slot their mouths together in a dance of the simplest kind of perfection. Sam's eyes squeezed tighter as he moved his lips against Dean's movement, the kiss that wasn't so slow it turned into a deep cry of all the time in the world, because there was only a year in real life, in the universe Dean was still aware of even if Sam had achieved a higher immortality. But the kiss wasn't fast enough to be rough or too urgent, it was just perfect and right and everything Sam had never known he was missing. This was it, this was that feeling Sam, Dean, everyone in the world had ever been waiting for.

Every story, song, spirit, all were pushing for, trying to capture, describe, find, search for a moment like this. No one else could have ever known something like this though, there couldn't be anyone who had ever lived who had felt this kind of immortality and finality of something so simple that somehow felt like the most important thing Sam had ever done. Dean's hand slid up to the back of Sam's head, his fingers threading though Sam's hair. Then Sam felt the slight pull of Dean's lips as they furthered away from Sam's by less than a millimeter. Sam recognized the final slide of their lips together and he recorded it into his mind, branded it into his memory so clearly Sam was sure it was the last thing he would ever remember, next to Dean's name. If Sam forgot everything else in the world, those two things would stay with him forever, his brother's name and the slide of his lips across Sam's.

Dean's lips pulled slowly away from Sam's, his forehead tilting forward in tandem to rest against Sam's. Their mouths were separated now, but Dean was still close enough for Sam to breathe in his air. Sam's mouth didn't feel cold like he had been expecting, because there was somehow no absence of Dean, Dean was there still, Sam could feel him in the tingling against his lips. There was the sweetest kind of hum resonating in all of Sam's body, as Dean kept their foreheads pressed together, his hand on the back of Sam's head and the air falling in and out of his mouth close enough for Sam to take and give.

They stayed like that even longer than they had kissed. Sam kept his eyes closed, letting all of his other senses be sharpened, the feel, smell, taste of Dean still lingering on his lips. The soft sound of Dean's breathing, not entirely restful but not panting and worried and regretful either. Breathing like it was all so much, like maybe Dean felt the immortality too. Sam could stay like this forever. With the abiding tingle of Dean's mouth a ghost on Sam's lips, Dean's heartbeat almost audible, syncing with Sam's through the fingertips against Sam's head. Sam had Dean's skin, his cheek, under Sam's palm. Could feel the intricacy of the muscles and skin and the rush of blood all underneath his hand. The oxygen Dean was giving to him in every sense of the metaphor and literal sense. Sam's vocabulary didn't have the word for it.

Finally Dean's fingers curled a little, like he was holding on for just a moment longer, than his hand slid off of Sam's head, leaning back his own so their foreheads no longer met. Sam's eyes fluttered open, drawing his hand slowly off of Dean's cheek. Dean opened his eyes seconds after Sam, so Sam had a few to look at him, to take in the slick and slightly swollen, just slightly, lips. Then Dean's eyes were open and on Sam's and neither one of them had words for this, according to Dean's eyes. There was fear there, too. Sharp green fear, fear for the future or for what just happened or for the past, all the way back to 23 years ago when Sam was born into the same blood as Dean, therefore constituting this thing between them as wrong for some reason. Sam didn't know how to tell Dean that it wasn't their fault, that just because they were blood didn't mean they couldn't need each other that way, that maybe they had been together in another life and this one was just unlucky enough to put them in the same family. There was more than that, too, better reasons that Sam knew but didn't know how to put in words in his mind. He'd tell them all to Dean one day, but right now the only thing he wanted was for this moment not to end.

Sam didn't realized there were tears on his cheeks until Dean was brushing them away again, a little faster this time, smearing four of his fingers across Sam's cheeks and his entire hand along the line of Sam's jaw, catching them before they fell more droplets into both of their laps. Sam let Dean push the tears away, then push Sam slowly and gently onto his back, with a hand on each shoulder. Sam scooted up a little on the bed, letting the pillow catch his head. Dean helped Sam swing his legs up on the bed, then quickly popped each of Sam's boots off with the expertise of having done it a thousand times. Dean sent the boots tumbling to the ground, then kicked off his own, letting them clatter on top of Sam's next to the bed.

Then Dean was climbing up the bed too, lifting the sheets and tugging them out from under Sam. They were both quiet, neither saying anything, just listening to each other breathe. Then Dean slid under the sheets too and situated them more carefully over Sam. As soon as Dean's head was on the pillow, Sam turned into him, curling into Dean's side and sliding under Dean's arm to encourage it around Sam's shoulders. Dean obliged, his hand landing on Sam's upper arm and just resting there. Sam closed his eyes, letting his last few tears spot Dean's shirt. Dean didn't say anything, just absentmindedly rubbed a few fingers back and forth over Sam's arm. Sam wrapped his arm underneath Dean's shoulders too, letting their bodies fit together snugly.

Sleep took Sam quickly, the last things on his mind Dean's warmth and the tingle reverberating on his lips.

 


	45. Borne (The Magnificent Seven - 03x01)

Sam was gonna kill him. Ever since yesterday morning, Dean had decided to entirely avoid the topic of their kiss. But it wasn't even avoiding, it was more like pretending it never even happened. Sam had borne Dean's "ignore everything" method since the beginning of time, but this time it hurt. It was like a stab to the gut, that Dean entirely seemed to forget about it. It was kind of a huge fucking deal to Sam, and Dean refused to mention it, or act any differently in the slightest. Well, besides the bucket list attitude that he looked at the world with now. That didn't have anything to do with the kiss, though.

When Sam woke up the next morning, he had been alone and there had been steam seeping underneath the shower door. Sam had been a little disappointed Dean wasn't there when he woke, but he still had a content grin on his face from the previous night, so he happily made the bed and grabbed two coffees from next door. Dean was still in the bathroom when Sam got back, so he set the coffees on the table and propped himself up on the bed, research book in hand. He'd look through what he had first, before stopping at Bobby's and seeing what he had about Crossroads Demons. Research, Sam was good at, so he was fairly sure he had to find _something_ to get Dean out of his deal.

Dean had come out of the bathroom dressed and shaved, his hair wet but still softly spiked. Sam smiled a good morning, which Dean returned before grabbing a coffee and downing half of it in one gulp. Sam watched on, one eyebrow raised, but Dean didn't comment or explain his sudden coffee need. He just turned to Sam, speaking over the rim of his styrofoam cup.

"How's your back?" 

"Oh, fine." Sam attempted at a nonchalant grin and wave of his hand. Dean was at his side in three seconds. 

"Roll over."

"Dean, I said I'm fine!" Just because Sam felt some sharp pain every time he tried bending at all didn't mean Dean got to play nurse and fuss over him. It was a deadly wound after all, what was Dean expecting?

"Yeah, and fine means Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional. Hike up your shirt, lemme see." 

"You can't just quote movie lines as real life situations, man."

"Sam."

Sam sighed and set his book down, scooting down on the bed and turning around. Sam grabbed the hem of his shirt, but Dean's hands were suddenly pushing his shoulders.

"I can't see it unless you lay down."

"God, you are bossy."

Dean didn't respond, just waited for Sam to lay on his stomach, mumbling annoyingly into the pillow. Dean pulled up Sam's tshirt, hiking it a bit above the death wound. Sam could feel the ghost of Dean's fingers over the ruined skin, and had to hold his breath to keep his instincts at bay and stay still. Dean didn't comment on how tense Sam was. 

After silence from Dean which felt like it could have been legitly at least two minutes, Sam finally opened his mouth to make some smartass remark about Dean not being able to heal it by staring when a sudden fire flew through Sam's body and he arched away from Dean's hand, crying out into the pillow he had stuffed against his face. Dean's hand was suddenly gone, placed steadily between Sam's shoulderblades, pressing down the bunched up cloth. Sam took a few seconds to breathe, to get a grip on the pain that was slowly subsiding. After his heartbeat slowed back to normal, Sam let out a long, shaky breath.

"That bad, huh?" Dean's voice was quiet and a little apologetic. Sam lifted his head, turning on his side as he sat up. He didn't want to see the pity and sorrow written all over Dean's face. Sam was the one who messed up, who'd done this to both of them.

"I'll get better." Dean stood in front of Sam for another few seconds, then he let out a sigh and made his way over to his duffel, scooping it up on his shoulder. Sam watched as Dean hesitated at the door before reaching out and grabbing Sam's duffel too. Sam was just about to protest, say he wasn't a goddamned invalid, when Dean spurted out his cheerful, _you comin?_

Sam just sighed and grabbed his book and coffee, doing a final scan of the room to make sure they didn't leave anything behind. Then he made his way out to the car. And slept for half the day, read for another quarter, and spent the last quarter of the day smirking into a beer as Dean attempted to pick up twin sisters at a dive bar. So, basically, the day was 100% normal. Absolutely nothing had changed. Sam wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he was pretty sure whatever it was, it didn't include following the two giggling girls' annoying shiny blue car back to their apartment Dean mouthing Sam a huge thank you and Sam waving him on, snickering at his ridiculous brother. 

Dean's hookups didn't bother Sam, they hadn't for a long time now. Even being stuck out in the car reading while Dean shot him a thumbs up through the window wasn't that bad. And Sam was even being kind enough to overlook the fact that Dean was hooking up with twins. _cough incest cough_. But hey, Dean had kissed his brother 24 hours ago, so apparently he didn't mind overlooking the sibling thing. But the more Sam thought about the kiss, the more it worried him. To Sam, it had meant so much, at the time and leading up to and after and every single moment that had anything to do with it. But to Dean...Sam had no idea what it had meant. He had a few theories, and the best one he came up with was Dean's stupid "put Sammy first" rule. That is was about Dean selling his soul, about them not having any other way to tell each other they were sorry and here. Sam was still in the process of convincing himself that the kiss was just about that, only about Dean selling his soul. Sam was pretty much 100% sure that that's what it was to Dean, just another way to comfort Sam now that he only had 364 days left. 

Sam had been wanting to kiss Dean for practically a year now, but he still hadn't been able to come up with the reason why he wanted to. Well, obviously Dean's lips were the most beautiful (and soft and perfect) Sam had ever seen, and now that he'd actually had them under his own, it was kind of the only thing he could think about. But there was clearly some other reason too, Sam just couldn't figure out what it was. And the more the day went on, the more Dean seemed to be thinking the opposite of what Sam was. Dean wasn't thinking about the kiss, he was thinking about everything else besides it. It was slowly dawning on Sam that it was a just one time thing, and just that thought alone made him want to scream.

It was like Dean was just appeasing him, then wanting to go back to normal and Sam couldn't take that. He was already on the road to losing Dean as a brother, Sam needed something to believe in. He needed Dean, to hold Dean and kiss him and keep him away from the hellhounds sniffing out his scent. But Dean just...wasn't interested apparently. It was torture.

What was Sam supposed to do? God knows he couldn't bring it up.

The longer it went without talking about, the more Sam couldn't help but think about it, thinking about everything they were missing. Sam was missing. Just sitting here in shotgun while Dean shot down the road, overjoyed and high and on the way to Bobby's case. Sam sat in silence, silently fuming more and more as the time elapsed. Dean was going to ignore this forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean didn't see why everyone had their panties in a twist. Especially Sam, who was practically livid. Seemed like every suggestion Dean had was stupid, even though everyone knew Dean was clearly expendable and were just pretending they wanted him around longer than they needed him. Seriously, Dean could have slowed the damn demons down! Why the hell was everyone so quick to tell him he's "being reckless" and "throwing away his life." How could absolutely no one grasp the idea that Dean NO LONGER HAD A LIFE TO THROW AWAY? 

Dean was silently fuming, his attitude starting to match Sam's. Sam had been fine enough at first, but lately had taken to bitching at every word out of Dean's mouth. Dean had no idea who'd pissed in Sam's cheerios, but the constant bitchiness was getting old fast. 

After another bout of everyone yelling at Dean for being stupid and suicidal, he just decided he'd storm off and wait the demons out on his own. Sam followed him, probably assuming Dean was going to just bolt, but he was pretty sure he'd _just said_ he wouldn't. Dean stopped in an empty room, lit only by a couple of torches. There was a small radio on one side, and Dean's shotgun on the other. Sam was practically stepping on his heels. Dean finally turned around, forcing Sam to skid to a halt.

"What do you want?" Not much annoyed Dean more than people treating him like he was four. Not trusting him. Which clearly was happening right now.

"Why do you feel like you should just sacrifice yourself all the goddamn time, Dean?"

"Why do you answer questions with questions?" Sam tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes in anger. Sam's mouth suddenly set in a hard line as he glared. Dean quickly caught himself, forcing his gaze away from Sam's mouth. Dean was not going to think about that.

If he didn't think about it, it didn't happen. Sam had just been upset and emotional and back from the dead and he didn't know what he was doing. It had seriously fucked Dean up though, he'd only managed about an hour of sleep after that. He just laid on his back, staring at the ceiling and cursing every god he could think to curse that wouldn't come smite him. Dean had been battling his feelings since the night Sam left for Stanford, not even really able to admit to himself everything he was feeling until about a year ago. Then Dean had spent all of his time avoiding the topic and fighting the urge to tell Sam. Sam didn't need that kind of burden on him. Dean's job was to look out for Sam, not to decide he liked him a lot more than a brother should and then further go on to fuck up his life with it. No, this was Dean's shit he had to deal with and it wasn't Sam's problem. 

Dean had thought it was bad when Sam had gotten drunk and attempted at kissing him, but now? Sam freaking _kissed_ him and there wasn't much Dean could do about that. Besides write it off to Sam being emotional and needing some sort of output. It obviously couldn't be anything else, Sam was his brother and not nearly fucked up enough in the head to have the alternative motives Dean did. So if Sam needed him as an output every once in a while, Dean wasn't going to hate him. But it was seriously unfair to Dean, who'd been fighting this for years. Having to just be used at Sam's disposal for some stress release was like setting chocolate cake in front of a fat kid and giving him a sprinkle off the top every couple of weeks. That was just...torture. The worst kind of torture. Especially if Sam was going to do nothing but bitch at him in between.

"Dean. You don't even listen to me when I talk!"

"Well, how about you say something worth my time, I don't have enough time left to spare for things that aren't." Okay, that was kinda pushing it. But Sam's face, the jaw drop and death glare said Dean crossed the line. Dean was about to backpedal, try to get out of what he just said when Sam suddenly put two hands on Dean's chest, shoving him backwards. Dean stumbled for just a moment before he caught himself, looking back up at Sam in surprise.

"It's Dad, isn't it. He made you think you're not worthy of having a real life. Dean, you aren't running on borrowed time! It was Dad's fault any of this even happened in the first place, you always deserved to live! You still do! Dean, how can you have such a low opinion of yourself you _sell your soul_ the first chance you get?" Sam was screaming, his hands in the air and his body shaking. Dean stood a foot and a half away from him, unmoving and silent, just looking at Sam calmly and ignoring everything Sam said. Of course Sam would blame Dad for this, for _Dean's_ choice. Dean was steadily convincing himself not to reel back a fist and punch Sam square in the nose. 

"Sam." Dean said it once. Sam at least deserved a warning before Dean nailed him. 

"You don't get it Dean! You deserve better than this, you're not just some toy soldier-" Dean closed the gap between them in three milliseconds, his left hand fisting the front of Sam's jacket, bunching up the material in a rough grip and jerking Sam forward an inch. 

"You have no right to tell me who I am." Dean growled, his face close to Sam's and his eyes glaring with way more power than Sam's. Dean's right hand was tensed up, already in a fist and nearly about to pop Sam in the face. One more word, and Dean was going to lose it.

"Well you clearly aren't going to, someone ha-" Sam was suddenly cut off by the collision of Dean's mouth against his. 

Dean wasn't exactly sure why he had to, but his fist in Sam's jacket had brought Sam's face so goddamned close and his stupid subconscious brain decided to apparently take advantage of that. And Dean had needed to shut Sam up, and punching him wasn't guaranteed silence, just likely. This though, this was guaranteed quiet for as long as Dean liked. 

This kiss could not have been more of a stark distance than the one two days ago. That had been all lips and slow motions and Dean went into this one with his teeth practically bared. He pulled Sam's bottom lip into his mouth and scraped his teeth over it, not even giving Sam enough time to react before he tilted his head and slotted his mouth roughly against Sam's in the other direction. Sam wasn't even kissing Dean back he was so surprised. Dean's mouth was hard and pushing against Sam, his lips impatient as he moved across Sam's mouth, stealing his air and sucking Sam's lip into his mouth every now and then. Sam's brain apparently finally registered Dean's mouth against his and pushed back, engaging and pressing his mouth eagerly. They fought against each other for a moment, Dean eventually taking the upper hand and nipping at Sam's mouth as their lips slid over each other. 

The kiss was rough and practically just pent up frustration on anger pouring out through an entirely new kind of fight. Dean wasn't going to lie, he liked it kind of rough in bed sometimes. But this wasn't even about that, Dean was doing this to prove a damn point. Sam's lips dragged over his, mouths overlapping and wet and bruising quickly. What was the point Dean was trying to prove again? Suddenly Dean couldn't remember. 

It was when Sam pressed forward more, his hand coming up to Dean's arm that Dean snapped back into reality. What. The fuck. 

Dean pulled back from Sam, using the hand he still had grabbing Sam's jacket to push him back and away from Dean. Their lips broke apart and Dean stepped back, eyes flashing open wide and shoving himself a foot away from Sam, letting go of him roughly. Sam was looking at him with wide eyes, his (bruised and reddened) mouth open in surprise. Dean ducked his head down, carding a hand through his hair quickly. When he looked back up at Sam, Sam was still frozen in shock. 

"Don't." Dean's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, looking away from Sam for a moment while he did. "Don't tell me who I am."

It was lame and there was no way that was going to work to shut Sam up, about the whole crossroads deal and the stupid kiss and the other stupid kiss but it was the only thing Dean could say so it was going to have to be good enough. Dean wasn't sure he could take Sam's shocked stare for another second without actually slugging it off of Sam's face. Or worse. Like kissing it off of his face. 

He turned on his heel and made his way to the shotgun at the other side of the room, picking it up and inspecting the barrel and rounds like it was the most important thing he'd ever seen before. Now that his back was to Sam, Dean let one hand come up and touch gingerly at his lips, a little in awe at how swollen and tingling they felt. It was purely just for observation purposes, Dean was absolutely not thinking about Sam kissing him at all. Dean didn't, wouldn't. Couldn't. It was torture. Why in the world had Dean done that to himself?

He'd needed Sam to shut up, and punching him sometimes did the opposite...right? That had to be the explanation, why else would Dean...

Dean shook his head in exasperation. He was so screwed. So, so so screwed.


	46. Cretinous (The Kids Are Alright - 03x02)

"Hey, who's that?" Sam looked up at Dean, wishing for just three milliseconds that they could be normal people and not care who their brother was on the phone with before he sputtered out an answer he was surprised Dean didn't interrogate him for.

"Ah, I was just ordering pizza." Wow, Sam really? He used to be much better at this. His brain had stopped functioning at Sam level though, now that practically every time Sam looked at Dean he was just imagining every single circumstance that could lead to them kissing right now. Which was useless and cretinous, but he couldn't _help it_ , not with the way Dean's shocked/annoyed/sassy expression was leaving his lips parted and shiny. Dean's mouth could win awards. Should win awards. Seriously. And Sam should put duct tape over it because it was so goddamn distracting. Unless, that is, Dean was into bondage...

Sam shook his head and looked down. Woah. Holy shit. Slow down there backtrack and what was Dean saying? Dean's gaze turning over the setting was what saved Sam, with the green somewhere else, he could think enough to process Dean's words.

"Dude, you do realize that you're in a restaurant?" Sam folded his arms into his body, pretending he wasn't tense as hell or extremely aware of how ridiculous his pizza comment had been.

"Yeah. Oh yeah." Oh yeah was not an accurate type of response for that question if Dean would just close his damn lips maybe Sam's brain will decide to start working again and realizing there was more to the world than cupid's bow lips and green eyes and Oh yeah was definitely not directed at either of those things. Sam was past the point of no return of wow this is really not working. Sam used to be awesome at avoiding topics, lying to Dean, Dean had just caught him a little too close to catching him talking to Bobby plus he was so goddamn cute and Sam was so far gone this was absolutely ridiculous. "I just...felt like pizza you know?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, just looking down at Sam. Sam looked back up, attempting a grin, grateful for Dean's now closed mouth but the condoning look was somehow really attractive too and there's no way Dean was buying any of this and

"Wooaakay, Weirdy McWeirderton." Dean sat down in the seat across from Sam, his foot brushing Sam's as he sat down, but then out of reach again once he settled. Damn. He cleared his throat, looking down at the paper in his hands. "So I think I got something."

"Yeah?"

"Cicero, Indiana." Dean looked up, meeting Sam's gaze. Then the paper spun out, landing perfectly in front of Sam. Dean watched Sam instead of the paper. Sam broke the stare as quickly as possible, looking down at the paper with feigned interest. "Falls on his own power saw." 

"And?" This wasn't a case, it said TRAGIC ACCIDENT at the top of the paper and that's exactly what it meant, too. Accident. "That's it? One power saw?"

"Well. Yeah." Dean was splayed out across the chair next to him, his arm wrapped around an invisible person's shoulders. Dean used to do that to his chair occasionally. It had been a while since he had though.

"And you think that this is a case?"

"Well, I dunno, could be." Okay, something was up, this was a lame ass case, if not a nonexistent one (Sam was pretty sure it was a nonexistent one) so there had to be some sort of alternative motive.

"Dean, I-"

"Okay, there's something better...better in Cicero than a case." Dean's face lit up in a reminiscent, quirky side smile as he leaned his body forward, over the table, closer to Sam, and oh god. Sam couldn't help but smile back at Dean, that look was just as contagious as it was adorable.

"And that is?"

"Lisa Braden." Sam grinned, for real this time, Dean was just so cute. And enthusiastic. And dammit Sam had it so bad, he was so goddamn whipped just that precious smile and his quirky ways, how he'd tried to convince Sam on a case just to see a girl because he had this ridiculous bucket list. Sam was fairly sure it was 100% obvious and readable on his face just how badly he had it for Dean in that moment. How could it not be?

"Should I even ask?" The words that were normally full of sass were just full of affection, honestly happy to hear any story of Dean's, even his crazy sexual adventures.

"Remember that road trip I took, uh... gosh, about eight years ago now? You were in Orlando with Dad wrapping up that banshee thing." It probably wasn't normal for Sam to know exactly what Dean was talking about, to remember the five days of Dean's absence so clearly. They'd killed a ton of banshees in their ridiculous lifetimes, but Sam somehow managed to remember so many little details about Dean from their childhood. He'd been...fifteen, and those five days felt like weeks. 

"Yeah. Yeah, the five-states, five-day -"

Dean did his little laugh that said well kinda right before he said well kinda. How did Sam know Dean so well? How had he not noticed all the random useless information he had about his brother as a kid? It wasn't until after Stanford that Sam started to realize it at all.

"Yeah, well, kind of. Although I spent most my time in Lisa Braden's loft." Dean was looking down, a content memory smile on his face and Sam was trying so hard not to look at Dean like he was the sun. Sam was vaguely aware in some distant part of his mind that he was mirror Dean's motions, his arm out over the chair next to him, leaning his body on the table the same way. They must look llike somethin else to whatever onlookers they had.

"So let me get this straight. You want- You want to drive all the way to Cicero to hook up with some random chick." Dean brought his arm in and leaned forward, so goddamned close to Sam but _so far away_.

"She's a yoga teacher." Dean gave his little _duh_ smirk after that like it somehow explained away a day in the car with Zeppelin 2 on repeat. "It was the busiest weekend of my life."

Sam smiled again. He should not be in this good of a mood when Dean was over here trying to convince him to visit this yoga teacher who had strung Dean up on a leash and had her way with him. But Dean was being adorable Sam couldn't be held accountable.

"C'mon, have a heart, huh?" Sam would try to pretend he was annoyed about going, just a little so Dean wouldn't feel the urge to trample over him and drag him everywhere under the sun, if he dragged his feet just a bit, it would be better in the long run. Even though Sam had already mentally agreed to going. Anybody who lit Dean up like that, Dean deserved a couple nights with them. 

"It's my dyin wish!" Sam's good mood tampered down just a fraction as he was suddenly shot in the face with the reminder that yeah, Dean was dying. Still. Sam _still_ hadn't found a way to save him. 359 days. And by the time they got to Cicero, 358. Then a few days with Lisa, 355. Then the at least one day drive to wherever their next case was. 354. That was a lot of days. For one wish. And no case. But still, there was this sparkle in Dean's eyes.

"Yeah, well, how many dying wishes are you gonna get?" Sam laughed a little in the middle, but Dean wasn't reading his tone, only hearing the words. He was already in Cicero in his head, Sam could practically see the movie playing out in his mind.

"As many as I can squeeze out." Sam smiled a little. That was so Dean. 

"Come on." Dean splayed his arms out wide, some sort of convincing method. 354 days at the end of this. "Smile, Sam! God knows I'm gonna be smiling after 24 hours with Gumby girl."

Dean laughed and Sam did too, looking away from Dean shyly and shaking his head a little. How was a 27 year old monster killer the most adorable thing Sam had ever seen? God, it felt like years since Dean had kissed him, so full of anger and bitchiness and so so hot. They hadn't kissed since then, and Sam was dying a little, but it had only been about 48 hours so Sam could deal. Maybe. It wasn't like he could just kiss Dean out of nowhere though, he needed a reason. A very legitimate reason. Which he didn't have. Yet. He'd make one. Somehow. If only it was just as easy as being able to kiss Dean without any consequences. But Dean kissing him back had given him no information on how Dean felt, it was more an angry way to get Sam to shutup than an actual show of affection. So Sam still had no idea how Dean felt about the whole thing, and he wasn't going to risk everything just because he was dying to have Dean's lips under his again. Sam could wait. He had to wait. It was the only thing that gave the possibility of kissing Dean more in the future. It was torture, but hopefully going to be so, so worth it.

"Gumby girl." Dean made an exaggerated frowny face. "Does that make me Pokey?"


	47. Bedazzle (Bad Day at Black Rock - 03x03)

Sam may have been the one with the rabbit's foot, but Dean was pretty sure his luck was just as good as Sam's. Dean had just finished scratching the lotto tickets Sam had bought and was busy imagining all of the things they could do with this kind of cash when Sam walked back over to him from the call with Bobby. Dean turned around, leaning back against the car with a grin and the tickets in hand. Sam was relaying Bobby's message, walking around the front of the car when his pant leg brushed against the car and caught the material.

The force of it spun him in a circle, stumbling over his feet and losing his balance at the last possible moment, his body sliding into Dean's against the car. Dean didn't even have time to reach out and brace Sam's fall, not with his hands anyways. Sam's entire body was pressed up against Dean's, their lips connecting the same moment the rest of them did. Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise but his eyes automatically closed shut, tilting his head a bit to the side. Sam's mouth was just as sweet as Dean remembered, quite unfortunately. His little brother's lips fit perfectly against his, Sam's bottom lip caught between Dean's lips. Dean really wanted to open up his mouth and just take Sam in, but it was his brother for godsake, no one was dying (yet) and Sam didn't need a major shutup method (yet). 

Just as Dean was about to pull away, he heard Sam's hands land on the car, bracing against either side of Dean's body. Dean suddenly flushed with heat, with Sam pinning him here, the idea of that and oh god. But then Sam was using his planted hands to push himself off of Dean, up and away from Dean's mouth. Dean forced himself not to chase Sam's lips with his own, instead keeping his body leaning against the car. When Sam opened his eyes and looked down at Dean, he looked just as surprised as Dean did. There was silence in the air as they both realized Sam's hands were still pinning either side of Dean, and his body was hovering only an inch away. Dean swallowed, looking up at Sam and trying a cheeky grin.

"Guess I'm just good luck, huh?" Sam snapped out of his trance and back away from Dean, huffing at Dean's words.

"Shutup."

"No, really! I'm so fine, it's considered lucky just to kiss me."

"Dean."

"Just pointing something out there, Sam."

"I can't control it!"

"Woah, woah, hey. I didn't say you could. That doesn't stop me from being one fine piece of ass."

"You done now? Giving yourself the ego boost of the century?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

There was a beat of silence as they both opened their respective car doors and got inside. Dean sat in his seat just staring out the windshield for a moment before he turned to Sam, hand up in the air as a question.

"So do you think anyone who had the foot would get lucky enough to kiss me? Cause damn, do I have a list of people we should give that thing too-"

"Dean, if I lose it I die."

"Ee, okay, damn. Just a suggestion." Beat of silence. "Really, though-"

"Dean, start the car."

"Whatever floats your boat, Mr. Bedazzle." The Impala roared to life, and Dean couldn't help it if he had a grin on his face for the next hour. He not only was much richer than he was twenty minutes ago, he was considered a piece of lucky bait. And Sam had kissed him. Not that that alone should make Dean happy, it should make Dean really really concerned for Sam, but whatever, like Sam said. He couldn't help it.

~*~*~*~

"Did you see that shot?!" Sam looked at Dean with his jaw dropped and Dean's grin broke out even wider. Dean laughed as the first man fell to the floor, thanks to just moving his shoulder. Everything was in a dizzy happy blur and Dean was on top of the world. 

He lifted up the remote and flung it at the second guy, childish laughter escaping his throat as the guy practically went cross eyed and fell to the floor. A snide sideways grin flashed on Dean's face. He lowered his voice a bit, dipping his head dramatically as he looked at Sam. 

"I'm Batman."

Sam raised his eyebrows in disbelief at Dean's sheer awesomeness. Sam never thought to do anything that cool with _his_ luck. 

"Yeah. You're Batman." Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's skeptism. Everything was still blurry happy as Dean scooped his gun off the table, tucking in the back of his pants while he spoke. 

"Hey, when we were kids you used to believe me, and I always saved your scrawny ass from the Joker. Except that one time where I scared the shit out of you instead, which maybe could possibly the reason why you have this unrational fear of clowns..."

"You wanna untie me anytime soon?" 

"You know, my good luck overthrows your bad luck. I still managed to be a badass and save you, even though you're cursed. Maybe we should just keep the foot, then it's good luck all around!"

"Dean, you lose your damn toothbrush every other motel, you think you can keep a rabbit's foot?"

"Nah, I don't lose it, I just am too lazy to unpack it and use yours."

"Ew Dean, that's sick!"

"What? We have the same DNA."

"Will you just get me outta here?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twist."

Dean smirked and made his way over to Sam's chair. Sam was shooting him an epic bitch face and Dean wished he had a camera. He looked down to step over the remote guy body, not realizing just how close he'd been to Sam's chair when he fell. Dean made it over the guy fine, but just as he looked up he slipped. Sam's shoelaces were untied, and Dean's foot rolled over one, losing all of his balance and landing in Sam's lap. 

Just like before, as Dean fell, his mouth landed on Sam's. Sam made a surprised sound, and Dean's eyes snapped shut as their lips met again. For the second time today. Except now the kiss was reversed, Dean's mouth taking the upper slot against Sam's. Dean could taste the salty copper of blood mixed in with Sam's sweet mouth, and it made his head spin like before. 

Dean was about to untangle their mouths when he suddenly fell the rest of the way forward, landing with his ass in Sam's lap. Their mouths stayed attached for some reason Dean couldn't explain, it was just now he was kissing Sam, happily and in that same bliss of lucky blur, and sitting in Sam's lap. Yeah, this was quite the situation. Which Dean was pretty sure he'd never live down. 

Dean finally managed to tell his mind he should pull his lips away from Sam's, which was torture because Sam had taken to moving and pushing their mouths together. Sam's head tilted and he pressed against Dean's mouth tighter, their lips sliding through the wet slickness the glimpse of the inside of their mouths brought. 

Dean's hips shifted, and he became aware of the sudden urge to swivel his ass down on Sam's lap. Dean was back on his feet again in three milliseconds, out of breath and bright red. Sam blinked his eyes open, looking up at Dean. Sam's mouth had a slight smear of blood on it, where Dean had just grazed a trail of blood on Sam's face. There was probably a matching smear on Dean, but he should probably untie Sam first before he checked that out. 

Like Sam was reading his mind, he wiggled his shoulders and fingers, pointing out to Dean that he was, in fact, still tied up. Dean took a step to the side, careful to avoid any shoelaces as he reaches out to unbundle Sam's right wrist.

Dean's lefts and rights should be a pretty solid thing for him, what with getting raised as a soldier and all. So for most occasions, the directional terms were second nature to him and he didn't waste a moment's thought on them. The only exception really, was when Dean was facing Sam. Then everything automatically switched over, to "Sam's right" instead of just "left." It was like a switch flipped in his brain to best convientize Sam.

Once Dean finished up the last knot on this section of rope, Sam wriggled his hand free and set out to work on his other hand as Dean started in on the seventeen layers of duct tape wrapped around Sam's torso. 

"You know, Dean, if your good luck cancels out my bad luck, then it means it's lucky to kiss me too." Dean paused for a moment in his tape tearing, pondering the alternative. 

"Or it could be it didn't override the luck, and it's just your luck that made...that happen."

"But my luck is bad, Dean, that would make you unlucky." Dean's eyes widened with confusion, then he just sighed and gave up trying. The duct tape was sticky under Dean's fingers but he wasn't going to complain. Sam was okay. Because Dean was a badass. 

When he finally got the ropes and tape off Sam, he stood up. Sam was barely on his feet for three seconds before Dean was on him, checking for injuries and wiping the blood off his face. Sam protested a little, but Dean paid no heed. His fingers stilled as they brushed over the rope marks on Sam's wrists. Sam caught his worry and gently tugged his swollen wrists away from Dean.

"I'm fine." _Yeah, FINE meaning Freaked out, Insecue, Neurotic, and Emotional._

Dean let it go, though. With Dean's luck about to run out, he wasn't going to look the gift horse in the mouth and second guess Sam's injuries. He'd have plenty of time for that later. And it turns out Dean's luck didn't end in that graveyard, though. Dean would get to spend the evening caring over a bullet wound on the shoulder of an extremely attractive shirtless man. 

Dean could've gotten used to that rabbit's foot. Damn.


	48. Condecending (Sin City - 03x04)

"Kind of funny, don't you think? You and me sitting here like a couple of regular folk." Dean made a face at the demon, who was sitting so casually and content. Her body may be gorgeous, but goodness she was a condecending ass. All that stupid "humans are no better than demons" crap. Well, two could play that game. 

"Yeah, it's hilarious, you know, in that ... apocalyptic sort of way." One of Dean's favourite characteristics about himself was his tongue. Casey certainly had one to match, although it was too bad it couldn't get put to better use than just mouthing off. 

"You're all right, Dean." Dean scoffed. He wasn't sure if she was just being sarcastic or was just acting really strange. "The others don't describe you that way. But, you know, you're — you're likable."

"A demon likes me. Sorry, I don't know how to respond to that." Dean didn't even know demons could _like_. Although, if a demon were ever to like anything, it would make sense it was Dean. He was fairly awesome after all.

"You could say thanks." So she liked him _and_ she had manners. You don't find em like that every day. She was silent for a moment, looking over at him with her pretty eyes. She had this calculating look on her face that Dean almost commented on before she opened her mouth to speak again. "That deal you made to save Sam — a lot of others would mock you for it, think it was weak or stupid. I don't."

'It's been kind of liberating, actually. Y’know, what's the point in worrying about a future, when you don't have one?" She had a soft look on her face that made it hard to picture her with black eyes. Why the hell was a demon so genuine?

"Still, a year left. Everyone keeps talking about why you did it. There's quite a few theories out there, everything dark light and in between. One of my personal favourites I've heard was that Sam was planning on accepting the role of the antichrist and that you were his beloved consort. That you sold your soul because you know he's supposed to be the one who will rein beside you in hell."

Dean snickered. He wasn't 100% on what the hell a beloved consort was, but it sounded interesting. And something that Sam would be, not Dean. Casey had this smirk on her face as she said it and Dean was fairly sure she was mentally making fun of him for that rumour. Then she twisted around, moving to straighten up and sit cross legged, looking directly at Dean. 

"I know why you did it though. I'd always had a guess, but the moment I saw you two? One hundred percent sure." Dean raised his eyebrows at her knowing smile.

"Oh really? You think you can take one look at me and know me well enough to know why I would sell my soul and score an eternity in the pit, chilling with demons and burning in fl-"

"You love him." 

Dean stopped talking, his mouth snapping shut. He looked at Casey for a moment, narrowing his eyes. She just kept up her same snarky little smile that said she knew everything there was to know. 

"He's my family, it kind of comes with the requirements." 

"I'm not talking about brotherly love. Is it brotherly love every time you get jealous he gets a girl? Is it brother love that makes you touch him all the time, hands on his jacket or his back or his waist? Is it brotherly love that makes you stare at him, your eyes glancing from his eyes to his lips? Put it all together then rip your boy away, a lot more than just brotherly love shone through when you made that deal.

"I-I do no-"

"Dean, I'm a demon. Don't really care about the whole incest thing?" Dean cringed at the word incest. He was not going there, not thinking about that. And now she went and said it out loud.

"Yeah, well. it's not like that. I don't stare at his _lips_. Really? C'mon."

"Then why do people always assume you two are gay?"

"When people see two guys, that's what they think!"

"Actually, Dean they don't. People are much quicker to assume hunting buddies, friends, coworkers, even brothers before they assume a couple. That's just good old fashioned human genius."

"You think I care what a couple of motel clerks think?"

"Dean, you're missing the point. People assume you guys are in love, because you _are_." 

"We are not. What would you know about love anyways?"

"Who do you think is coming for me? Both of our men are searching for us. Because they both are in love with the damsels in distress."

"Okay, look. Even if I did love Sam....like that, which I don't, there is no way in hell Sam is in love with me. You don't know what you're talking about." 

"First, there is a way in hell Sam is. Are you really _that_ blind?"

"That's not blind, it's obvious! Sam loved Jess."

"Right, like you never loved two people at once."

"Look, lady, I don't love anyone. Seriously, isn't there anything else you know how to talk about?" Casey sighed and twirled a piece of hair in between her fingers. She was silent for a few seconds, then she was back at it with her bombarding questions.

"Well, considering that your life consists of basically just Sam, only thing else we can talk about is your death. Year left to live. You're not scared?"

"Nah."

"Not even a little?"

"Of course not." Dean didn't get scared. He was Dean Winchester, after all. The scariest thing he ever had to face was Sam's disheveled girly hair in the mornings. 

Not that Dean ever paid attention to Sam's hair. No matter what that demon said. What did she know anyways? She was just a demon. Just a demon.


	49. Contingent (Bedtime Stories - 03x05)

Sam was, for the first time he could remember, extremely grateful that Dean was being pissed and aloof. He was counting on it, actually. It was the first thing that crossed his mind as they stepped into the motel room. They'd shared a bed last night, Dean saying some excuse about how he'd been suppressed in a city where he could've gotten laid extremely easily, with all the liquor and whores, and the least Sam could do was let him have a warm body to sleep next to. It was the most forward Dean had ever been with him, but the teasing smirk and raised eyebrows on Dean's face made it seem like he was just teasing, just a joke. That smile made the words hold less gravity, like Dean wasn't using Sam's body warmth for comfort or that sleeping next to Sam wasn't a sufficient substitute for getting laid. Because that's what Dean had just said. Sam had crawled in next to him anyways, grumbling something or another about Dean being a whore, but for the first time, Dean made no move to complain or tense up or leave when Sam pulled Dean into his arms, resting his head on the back of Dean's shoulder. It felt like it was the monumental step for them, even though nothing had changed in the morning.

Well, besides Dean's sassy "Could you be more gay?" comment. Sam had been way too off guard by that comment to respond with what he should've said, _"Yeah, I could be you."_

That would've been an awesome comeback, and entirely true, but Sam had kind of just stared at Dean instead, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat as he almost choked on air. They hadn't talked about anything that had happened between them, ever, and while it wasn't exactly _talking_ about it, Dean had mentioned it. Dean of all people. Had been the one to bring up the questioning in Sam's sexuality. The thing was, Sam wasn't ever attracted to guys. Well, besides Dean. Dean was the only exception for that type of...thought. At least for Sam anyways. 

Dean, on the other hand, Dean was probably extremely gay. Or bi. Because Sam had seen him check out plenty of guys, flirted his way past waiters just as easily as waitresses. The thing was, Sam was pretty sure Dean had no idea. Dean probably didn't see how his cheeky little grin would look to the young men swooning over him. Dean was just...automatically sexual to everyone and everything that saw him. Dean hadn't ever admitted to being gay, not to Sam (which also meant not to anyone). And Sam was willing to bet not to himself either. 

So yeah, the gay comment had caught Sam off guard, but otherwise, nothing had changed between them. Until Dean brought up the stupid "Let me go" comment that made Sam want to scream and throw things. Sam glared after Dean as he walked down the hospital hallway, and now that they were in the motel room, Sam was still glaring. Dean was being stupid, how the hell did he think Sam could just let go? Dean couldn't. What, was his need for Sam alive exclusive only to him? Sam couldn't feel the same emotions for Dean that Dean felt for him? Screw Dean. 

When Dean stripped down to his tshirt and boxers and climbed into his bed, Sam was secretly sneaking the colt out of Dean's duffel and into his jacket, which he took off and draped carefully over the chair next to his bed. By the time Sam turned around to face the beds again, Dean had attempted at tucking himself tightly in the ugly yellow blanket on his bed. The message behind the wrapped blanket was clear enough: Dean was sleeping alone tonight, Sam wasn't welcome and Dean would find warmth and comfort enough in the blanket he had up around his shoulders. 

That was fine enough with Sam, Sam didn't need to sleep beside his brother tonight, he wasn't planning on sleeping much anyways. Dean was out in no time at all, his eyes shut and his breathing soft. Sam waited for a little bit, watching Dean sleep. Dean was restless, turning over in his sleep and shifting his head around, clearly uncomfortable. Dean was normally extremely still when he slept, laying in literally one position all night. He never was like this, rolling over and making unhappy faces in his slumber. Sam felt a ping, wondering if maybe Dean was missing him right now. If Dean would relax, all the tension and fighting seeping out of his body, if Sam were to go over and climb up behind him, wrapping Burrito Dean in his arms. 

As much as Sam would love to test that theory, he had work to do. Sam threw his jacket back on, making his way to the door. He turned around one last time, looking over at Dean, who rolled again, facing Sam's bed like he really was missing him. Then Sam was gone, leaving the room and his restless brother behind. Hopefully when he returned, his restless and no-longer-hellbound brother. This had to work. It was absolutely contingent, that Sam had his brother back. The one that wasn't stupid and reckless and throwing himself away for Sam. Sam had to have him.


	50. Adumbration (Red Sky at Morning - 03x06)

The walk back to the car was really nice. just the two of them side by side, talking llght details over the case, smiles on both their faces. They didn't do enough of this, just walking juxtaposed. Most places they went were only narrow enough for one and a half, or it was dangerous in some form and Sam was tucked behind Dean's shoulder. So the freedom of walking out next to his brother was awesome. 

Sam even took the stairs up to the street one at a time to keep in pace with Dean. Dean was definitely a one at a time stair stepper, unless they were in a major hurry. Sam's legs were long enough to easily take two at a time, so that's what he always did. Except today, where they stayed side by side, right up until the top of the steps and towards the street. Sam automatically slipped behind Dean's shoulder a little as they got less room, due to the people on the sidewalk. 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at the empty parking space. He was pretty sure this is where they parked the Impala. Sam turned around, scanning the area (even though the Impala probably wasn't going to be on a pedestrian filled side walk) and seeing nothing shiny black, or nothing out of the ordinary.

"This is where we parked the car, right?" Sam turned back to face Dean, who was stepping off the curb into the parking spot the car should have been. As though he needed physical confirmation that the Impala wasn't there, and his eyes might have been deceiving him.

"I thought so." Dean stopped walking, his hands up in questioning as he turned his head to the side, his shoulders tense in his dark gray suit. There was a beat of silence, before Dean's voice spoke again, his tone quality strange.

"Where's my car?" Sam turned around again, just in case, and to look for anything suspicious too. Nothing. Sam turned back to Dean, attempting at the only logical thing he could think of.

"Did you feed the meter?" Dean turned around, looking at Sam now with a mildly terrified look on his face and gesturing at the little gray pole between them.

"Yes I fed the meter!" Dean looked back out to the street, silent for a moment. Sam was running possibilities through his head, even the really scary ones, trying to find some logical explanation for Dean's baby not being here.

"Sam, where's my car?" The way Dean said his name sounded like a plea, as he turned to face Sam with a desperate look on his face. Then he stepped back on the ledge, walking quickly past Sam and suddenly yelling at the harbour and everyone in it. "DID SOMEBODY STEAL MY CAR?!"

"Hey, hey hey. Calm down. Dea-" As Dean passed him, Sam reached out a hand. What he would've done if he'd gotten ahold of Dean's jacket, Sam didn't know. But he didn't have much time to think about it, because Dean was an inch out of reach, and quite busy yelling at the innocent passerby civilians. Sam scanned the street again, looking everywhere for something shiny black. 

"I am calmed down!" Dean was still shouting, and Sam was pretty sure that shouting "I'm calm" was a fairly oxymoronic adumbration. "Somebody stole my-"

Dean was suddenly quiet, and Sam turned his head back to his brother. Dean was bent over, his hands on his knees and his body heaving as he gasped, trying to take in air that his lungs wasn't accepting. 

"Woah!" Sam hurried over to Dean, who was actually having a hyperventilative attack. This was a first. "Dean. Hey hey hey."

Sam reached his brother and cupped a firm hand under Dean's armpit, placing the other on Dean's lower back. Sam straightened him up to standing again, pressing down on his back while pulling up on his shoulder to keep his back straight, firmly but carefully trying to bring Dean back to a state of normalcy. Dean's mouth was in a perfect "o" as he tried to slow his breathing. Sam's eyes only caught on Dean's lips for a moment before he glued them to Dean's eyes.

"Take it easy." Dean's body was quivering, but Sam's touch was slowly calming him. At least he wasn't bent over, clutching his knees and wheezing now. Dean sucked in more air, managing to actually get the oxygen to his brain this time, breathing out slowly and shakily. Sam reached across Dean's body and put a hand on Dean's cheek, letting the warmth of skin on skin calm Dean a little more. Dean's eyes shut for a moment as he leaned into Sam's hand just a little, his quivering shoulders calming back down to normal. Wow, Sam was really glad that worked. He'd only had a few other ideas, but he honestly had no idea of the right way to pull someone out of hyperventilating. Apparently, touching them worked. Or, well, it worked for Dean. Sam touching him worked for Dean. Sam felt a small ping of pride at being able to get through to Dean like this, with just his hands and a soothing voice. It was good to be needed.

"The '67 Impala? Was that yours?" Sam moved his hand down from Dean's cheek to the front of his shoulder, splaying out his palm so that his fingers brushed Dean's collarbone. Dean turned his head towards Sam, looking at him like he was the golden light anchoring Dean to this earth. That was new, too. Dean felt strangely weak and vulnerable, and as terrifying as that was, Sam felt warm just from being able to help Dean through this. Sam turned his head to the approaching voice, a glare breaking out as soon as he realized who it was. 

"Bela." Sam dropped his hand from Dean's shoulder, suddenly very aware that Bela knew they were brothers. He wondered if she'd gotten here in time to see Sam's hand cradling Dean's cheek. Knowing Bela, probably definitely. He kept his hand on the small of Dean's back though, his palm firm and fingers splayed out wide and possessive. Dean was breathing shallowly now, which was awesome, Sam didn't know people could come down from anxiety attacks that quickly.

"I'm sorry. I had that car towed." The snobby British accent made Sam want to shove her off the harbour and watch her flop around in her stupid suit in the water.

"You what?!" Dean's voice was still higher pitched then normal, but he was much calmer than he was three seconds ago, and Sam was quite surprised and proud. Normally in this situation, Dean would step up into Bela's space, using his height and lower voice to intimidate and get his way. Now, though, he was pressed up against Sam's side like a newborn puppy. Dean did not look like he wanted to leave anytime soon, either. 

"Well, it was in a tow-away zone."

"No, it wasn't!" Dean shifted his weight, turning just a little to face Bela more, instead of his body being angled in towards Sam. Dean kept the line of his side still pressed up against Sam, and Sam could feel the reverberations of Dean's talking-with-his-hands echoing from Dean's shoulders to his. 

"It was when I finished with it." Sam was half expecting Dean to lunge at her, but he kept his distance. 

"What the hell are you even doing here?" Dean's voice was back to normal again, or at least close enough that the worry slipped out of Sam's face. Bela rambled on some smartass remark, sharing her little story about why she claimed to be here. God, Sam hated her. She was such a bitch. Normally Sam didn't snap at civilians, he especially didn't sass them, but Bela got an exception for sure. She detailed another one of her stupid scams that made Sam realize just what a shitty person she actually was.

"How do you sleep at night?" Sam finally spoke up, his tone condoling and disapproving. What a bitch. 

"On silk sheets, rolling naked in money." Dean tilted his head as he visualized, nodding slightly. God, even with Bela Dean managed to find some sort of sexual remark. Although he didn't have the sort of reaction he normally would, which would be some stupid line about "oh really, I don't believe it til I see it" then raise his eyebrows suggestively. But, then again, Bela had had Dean's car towed, Sam would be extremely concerned if Dean forgave her so easily for that. "Really, Sam. I'd expect the attitude from him, but you?"

"You shot me!" And Bela wondered why Sam hated her.

"I barely grazed you." Sam sighed in exasperation, although Dean just shrugged in mute acknowledgement of Bela's point. That bullet wound hadn't been that bad, and Dean had been almost...flirty while he was patching it up. So yeah, Sam wasn't going to complain about the bullet. She was still a bitch though.

"Cute. But a bit of a drama queen, yeah?" Bela aimed that question towards Dean. Sam held his breath as he was torn between Dean either denying or confirming what Bela just said. If Dean denied it, then he was sticking up for Sam's reaction, and managing to avoid admitting that Sam was cute. Or Dean would agree with her, which would be bad because Bela picked up on _everything_ and if she witnessed the end of Dean's episode earlier, she was already probably suspicious about their... brotherly relationship. And if Bela Talbot ever got ahold of a secret as deep as what had been happening between him and Dean...they'd both be in a living hell 7.5 months too early. 

"You do know what's going on around here. This ghost-ship thing, it is real." Dean managed to avoid answering her question at all. Talking about the case with Bela was something they'd normally never do, but Dean must have known it would spark her interest enough to make her forget about the dangerous waters they'd been treading in the conversation before. It worked too, Bela instantly latching on to the case and forgetting her snide remarks about Dean's opinion on Sam. Hallelujah.

Bela and Dean argued the case a bit, Dean turning the conversation to be about Bela again so they didn't have to talk who knew what details. Eventually Bela got tired of the interrogation and accusations, because she finally ended the conversation.

"Look... just stay out of my way before you cause any more trouble. I'd get to that car if I were you... before they find the arsenal in the trunk. Ciao." Bela turned on her heel and stalked off. Sam suddenly hated Italian very much. They both watched her go, matching glares on both their faces. Now they would have to go sweettalk their way into the impound, or steal the car, either one meant time off the case and dammit Sam hated that bitch.

"Can I shoot her?" Sam tilted his head, clenching his teeth together in annoyance. Even though it was pretty cute Dean just asked permission, even if it was rhetorical. Maybe. Sam sure wasn't being rhetorical when he answered.

"Not in public."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bela had quite a few ears in the hunting community, so she had heard plenty of rumours about the Winchester boys. She'd seen enough of them together to know there was a possibility of it being true, but she didn't jump to conclusions. That was a nasty way to get yourself in quite a bit more trouble than Bela like to be in. 

But when Sam sauntered up at the party, Dean's entire face - no, body - lit up. Bela had been quite content with her alone time with the boy, he looked quite nice in a bowtie after all. Although she'd been a bit surprised when he hadn't jumped on her offer of having sex earlier. Any other man would have probably taken her upstairs on the spot, but Dean just said something ridiculous about objectifying him. Hearing rumours about the Winchesters also meant she heard what a sex-addict Dean could be, or at least had been a few years ago. That part of him had supposedly dropped off the mat around about the same time Sam came back into the picture. Which made sense, based on how they practically lived together. If you can call squatting in a disgusting old house living.

Dean stopped leaning on the counter and turned his body to face Sam instead of Bela. Bela huffed a sigh of annoyance, at how Dean was so narrow minded, like a race horse with blinders on, set only to see his tall ganky little brother.

"Exactly how long do you expect me to entertain my date?" Sam glared at Bela as he spoke, then turned his attention fully to Dean on the word date. They both looked at each other, Sam's face showing a bit of surprise at Dean's tux. Bela couldn't really count that off as anything but simple surprise at Dean acting - wait, no, looking - civilized for once. She need some harder proof than that to confirm those rumours.

"As long as it takes." Sam tore his gaze away from staring at Dean, which looked quite painful actually, and sent a quick glare at Bella before turning his head back to Dean. Goodness, they spent a lot of time looking at each other that could be used as quite valuable time to steal things.

"Look, there's security all over this place, all right. This is an uncrashable party without Gert's invitation, so..." Bela saw the little smirk forming on Dean's mouth as he spoke, which meant something Sam was sure to understand. It was like they had their own secret language or code, one that was uncrackable and quite annoying, if you asked Bela. Most of this code consisted of facial expressions and touches, which was pretty rare in the way today's society tended to communicate.

"We can crash anything, Dean." Sam's voice was obscenely low, less like he was trying to keep quiet, and more like he was trying to draw his brother in closer. It was a trick Bela used sometimes, and she wondered if it was intentional or just a natural thing for Sam. 

"Yeah, I know, but this is easier and it's a lot more entertaining." Dean smiled and raised his eyebrows. No, smile was understatement. He lit up again, his pretty green eyes sparkling and crinkling a little at the corners, his mouth curling up into a real show of amusement and affection. Dean hadn't smiled like that the entire time he'd been with Bela. Bela glared at Sam, then looked back to Dean. She suddenly realized that she was quite invisible, and irrelevant to both of them currently. One on hand, it made her upclose observations much easier, but on the other hand, Bela was not used to being ignored. She was a pretty, rich, and witty British girl, why in the world would two boys pay her no mind? Especially when she was all dolled up like this. But they couldn't feel the annoyance radiating off of her in waves, because they both just continued their conversation with each other.

"You know there are limits to what I'll do, right?" That seemed to have quite the double meaning, especially the way Sam emphasized certain words. This certainly was interesting, watching them in their natural habitat. Although, this level of class was quite above their dirty little heads.

"Ah, he's playing hard to get, that's cute." Dean reached out and clapped Sam's arm, his hand lingering too long. Alright, it was official. They were absolutely flirting with each other. Hell, at this rate, Bela would be surprised if they didn't start snogging any moment. Bela wasn't sure if Dean realized he just called his brother cute, out loud, in public, or well, more importantly, in front of her. Sam made a face that showed he was quite busy trying to hold back some other expression or comment, so Sam clearly had noticed. Dean saw the expression, which made him suddenly remember that they weren't alone, apparently. Dean reached over and grabbed the glass in front of Bela, looking at it for a millisecond before turning his gaze back to Sam.

"Come on." Dean spoke to her quietly, as though she was still insignificant, then sighed as he faced his body back to his brother. Bela got up out of her chair, about to step in between them when Dean leaned in close to Sam. Bela took a step back, almost certain that her previous guess for them snogging was about to come true. But Dean just whispered, his face close to his brother's. Bela could practically feel the tension in the air. "I want all the details in the morning."

Sam smiled tightly, sarcasm and annoyance written all over his face, but Bela could see the hidden affection underneath it. Then Dean stepped back away from Sam, holding out Bela's glass to her. She took it, pretending that she wasn't quite peeved about suddenly getting ignored for much too long.

"Thank you." Then they were on their way off, and Bela was left alone with Dean again. Although now, he was grumpy and tempermental and bitchy and argumentative. Bela spent most of her time attempting to decide which was worse. Dean, without Sam, who was cranky and brutish. Or Dean, with Sam, who was happy and sparkling and adorable, but decided to entirely ignore her existence. Bela settled for the Dean without Sam. Because as much as she hated his whining, it was better than watching him make heart eyes at his brother. Just what she was going to do with this information about them, she had no idea. It wasn't like she had any proof they were in a relationship, just enough proof for herself to be sure that _something_ was going on. And if there was something there, then there was also some way that Bela could use it to her advantage. There was always a way.

(Even though this new knowledge meant that no, she and Dean weren't going to have angry sex later. What a shame and a waste of a perfectly good cocktail dress.)


	51. Amassing (Fresh Blood - 03x07)

Dean heard Sam's boot on the phones, crushing the plastic under his feet. Just like Gordon was planning of crushing them. Dean turned away from the window, letting the curtain fall back into place. There was no way he was going to let that sick twisted bastard get at his brother again. 

"Sammy, stay here." Dean walked over to his duffel, rummaging through it.

"What? Where you going now?" Dean found the Colt and pulled it out, checking over it to make sure it had ammo and was locked in place.

"I'm going after Gordon."

"What?"

"You heard me." Dean was doing a weapons check, and he was actually a little surprised at how calm Sam's voice was, since he was flipping shit earlier just because Dean had taken a bit of a risky move. But it was probably because Sam didn't realize what Dean was saying.

"Not alone, you're not." Since when did Sam boss _Dean_ around? Dean looked up at Sam, who was standing a little bit away and looking fairly offended.

"Sam, I don't need you to sign me a permission slip, okay? He's after you, not me, and he's turbocharged. I want you to stay out of harm's way. I'll take care of it."

"Well, Dean, you're not going by yourself. You're gonna get yourself killed!" There was the bitchiness Dean had been expecting.

"Just another day at the office. It's a massively dangerous day at the office." Dean smirked, looking back down at the gun in his hands.

"So you're the guy with nothing to lose now, huh? Oh wait, let me guess. Because, uh, it's because you're already dead, right?" Sam took a step forward, only a couple feet away from Dean now. Dean looked up at him for a moment before looking back down.

"If the shoe fits." Yeah, the vamp had stolen his lines and kind of voiced them out loud to Sam, but whatever. It didn't matter.

"You know what, man?" Another step closer. "I'm sick and tired of your kamikaze trip."

"Whoa, whoa, kamikaze? I'm more like a ninja." 

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

"No. It's not." Dean didn't see why a joke or two was getting Sam's panties in a twist. Dean joked all the time, why would he stop now, just because he's got some big fancy number on the days he has left to be alive?

"What do you want me to do, Sam, huh?" Dean sat down the gun and stood up, facing Sam and just a foot away from him. Dean subconsciously measured the distance between them at all times, it wasn't his fault, just some sort of natural evaluation of where Sam was. Just, taken a bit to the next level. "Sit around all day writing sad poems about how I'm gonna die?"

Dean walked past Sam, still keeping their distance at a foot away, scooping up the motel pad and pen, clicking it open.

"You know what? I got one. Let's see, what rhymes with "shut up, Sam"?" Sam bat the paper and pen down to the floor with a swipe of his hand. Dean looked up, his eyebrows raised.

"Dude, drop the attitude, Dean. Quit turning everything into a punch line. And you know something else?" Another step forward, now Sam was just inches away, looking down at Dean as Dean was forced to tilt his chin up to meet Sam's eyes. Sam's hand was suddenly wrapped up in a fistful of Dean's jacket. It wasn't as much menacing as it was just holding Dean in place. "Stop trying to act like you're not afraid."

"I'm not!" This was ridiculous. Dean didn't have to be scared, just cause he was about to die. People died all the time, what the hell was Sam's problem anyways?

"You're lying. And you may as well drop it 'cause I can see right through you." Dean smirked and rolled his shoulder back, shaking off Sam's hand and sidestepping his shoulder and walking back to the side table with the gun. 

"You got no idea what you're talking about." Sam knew nothing about seeing through Dean. Sam thought he had Dean so nailed down? Sam had _no idea_. 80% of the reason Dean was acting like this was about Sam anyways. All the remarks, all the jokes. It made it a hell of a lot easier to deal with the fact that Sam was using Dean as his own personal tension release toy. Dean had had feelings for Sam for years, and now Sam was driving those feelings crazy, physically engaging with Dean for god knows why and this was all Sam's fault anyways, for deciding that he suddenly wanted to kiss Dean just because Dean was dying and Sam hadn't gotten any and whatever the hell other reasons. But whatever it was, it was a joke. Just like everything else. And Sam honestly thought he could "see right through" Dean. Sam didn't have _any idea_.

"Yeah, I do. You're scared, Dean." Dean turned back around to face Sam. Like Sam had a clue. Right. "You're scared because your year is running out, and you're still going to Hell, and you're freaked."

"And how do you know that?" Dean's voice was serious and not at all joking. Sam had to just be taking shots in the dark, and Dean would prove it to him. He turned his torso back to face Sam all the way. A foot apart again. 

"Because I know you!" 

"Really?" Knew him? Right. No one knew Dean. 

"Yeah, I've been following you around my entire life!" Dean just looked at Sam. _following_. "I mean, I've been looking up to you since I was four, Dean. Studying you, trying to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world."

Sam's voice cracked, his bottom lip trembling. Dean hadn't seen Sam cry since Madison, but this was different. It was like these potential and unfallen tears came from a different part of Sam's body, ripped deep from his soul, like Sam himself was surprised that he was about to cry. That was a fucking lot of emotion behind that break in his voice. Dean looked down, the gravity of Sam's words and emotions and everything hitting him full swing. _better than anyone else in the entire world._ Even worse than the words, than the tears? The truth. It was so goddamned true, Sam knew Dean better than anyone else in the entire world did. Even if he didn't know that Dean loved him. Although maybe he did. He knew everything else. Dean looked up at Sam's eyes again, which weren't watery, Sam had gotten a grip on himself.

"And this is exactly how you act when you're terrified." Dean stuck his tongue and his cheek and looked away again. Looked down. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Did Sam know him better than he knew himself? Fuck. "And, I mean, I can't blame you. It's just..."

There was a beat of silence. Dean waited. Sam still didn't say anything. Dean turned his head to look back at Sam, who was looking away, shaking his head and clenching his jaw. Dean knew that look, he knew Sam was holding back from something that could change everything. That was Sam's terrified look. But at the same time, he seemed so desperate and determined. But Sam wasn't saying anything. Still that silence, that cliffhanger that was killing Dean, making him wonder a thousand things at once.

"What?" Sam shook out his shoulders and turned back to Dean. His mouth was pulled in a line that was fighting the quivering lip from earlier. 

"I wish you would drop the show and be my brother again. 'Cause..." Sam froze, the words escaping him. Dean couldn't name a time in Sam's life that Sam had been at a loss of words. The potential tears from before had appeared, amassing in Sam's eyes and making them watery. There was a silence that made Dean want to ask again, but he waited. He watched Sam, watched him fight this internal struggle that was eating at him. Dean would give anything in that moment to know what was racing through Sam's head. Sam eventually breathed in, filing up his chest before locking eyes with Dean again.

"Just cause."

They looked at each other for another moment before Dean had to look away, pushing his lips together to stop his emotions, stop everything that was heating up inside of him, the tiny quiver he felt in his own lip, the pain and the realizations in his gut, the relief and disappointment. Maybe Sam knew Dean loved him. Maybe Sam loved Dean back. Maybe Sam had no idea. Maybe Dean was delusional. It didn't matter anyways, Sam wanted his brother back and nothing in the world would ever mean more to Dean than that. Nothing.

"All right, we'll hole up, cover our scent so he can't track us, and wait the night out here." Dean's gaze went a thousand places before it landed back on Sam's. Sam was still, his eyes still watering as he looked at Dean. It was a lot to take in at once and Dean looked away for a moment. Tears, for him. Sammy cared that much, and. And he somehow had paid attention, cared about Dean _followed_ , _looked up to, studied. Better than anyone else in the whole world._ The whole world. It was such a Sammy thing to say, it made him sound so young and vulnerable and like he actually needed Dean. Stanford Sam should have said entire world. Or nothing at all. 

Dean was aware of every step he took, two and a half, landing himself right in front of Sam. Sam looked down at him, trying to surreptitiously bring his tears back to equilibrium. Dean reached up a hand, landing it softly on Sam's cheek. His thumb ran over Sam's soft skin, brushing away an imaginary tear that never fell. It was like the first time Sam ever kissed Dean, after he'd been crying. There were no fallen tears now, but they both knew. And this time it was Dean who was seeking comfort. Maybe he was terrified. 

He reached up, lightly guiding Sam's head down with the hand on his cheek and with the look in his eyes. All the moisture wasn't gone from Sam's eyes, and his lips was quivering just slightly. Then Dean pressed his lips against them, just pressing them together, top lip to top lip and bottom to bottom. Dean could feel the quiver of Sam's mouth against his, a tiny vibration that was echoed slightly in Dean's fingertips. Dean kept his lips still, just applying pressure to Sam's. He stayed that way until the quivering was gone, until Sam's mouth relaxed against his and the vibrating went away. The fade into serenity after the pain of near-tears was shocking to Dean, that he could have that affect on Sam. How did Dean have that affect on Sam? He was honoured, more than honoured. He felt cherished. Like maybe he was important, maybe this could be his purpose for now. Just for a few minutes, Dean had a reason and a meaning and a goal. He was needed.

Once Sam was fully okay, and Dean was fully sure, he tilted his head, slotting his mouth against Sam's. Sam obeyed easily, moving his lips against Dean's. It was their second kiss like this, all the tender and the love that Dean wasn't used to. It was confusing and overwhelming and somehow made him feel more alive than any kiss before. He knew it'd be temporary, that the moment they drew apart, the second that the tingle from his lips faded half an hour from now, the light would fade too and the darkness would creep back in. Everything would fade to black except for Sam. Dean would try, he would. He'd try to treat Sam right again. Sam deserved that. Dean knew.

In the meantime though, Dean wanted to feel alive. He could stay like this forever, kissing Sam. Letting Sam kiss him. There was nothing else in the world he needed.


	52. Pullulated (A Very Supernatural Christmas - 03x08)

"Help you, boys?"

"Uh, hope so. Uh, we were playing Jenga over at the Walshes’ the other night, and, uh…" Sam noticed an instant shift in the way Dean was standing. Not to mention the slight tilt of his head. Sam looked at him curiously. What game was Dean playing at? "Well, he hasn’t shut up since about this Christmas wreath..."

Dean turned to him, giving him a cheeky (flirty) smile, the hand previously gesturing at Sam now on his back. Dean. was. fucking. not.

"...and I don’t know, you tell him."

Sam gave Dean the evilest bitch face he could muster. This was definitely a first for Sam. He'd been assumed to be Dean's boyfriend from time to time, but Dean had never waltzed into a place with _that_ as their cover. There was absolutely zero reason for it, this would have worked just as well if they were brothers. Actually, based on the look on the shopkeeper's face, probably better. But Sam managed a tight smile.

"Sure." He was so going to kick Dean's ass later. Sam turned back to the shopkeeper. "It was yummy." 

Sam didn't know how to act gay. Yummy sounded like a gayish person word, right? Why couldn't Dean be the one talking, he was way gayer than Sam was. Even though they were posing as boyfriends. Fucking stupidass stubborn Dean and he just _had_ to boss Sam around and shiiitt, the shopkeeper probably totally thought that Sam bottomed and oh god why was Sam thinking about this stupid Dean what the hell had he been thinking-

"I sell a lot of wreaths, guys." Sam snapped back into reality. Conversation, right.

"Right, right, but – but you see, this one would have been really special. It had, uh, it had, uh, green leaves, um, white buds on it. It might have been made of, uh… meadowsweet?" 

"Well, aren’t you a fussy one?"

Sam raised his eyebrows for a millisecond before it dawned on him and his face shut down. Then the blush crept up his cheeks. God, he actually had played being gay without trying to and this was embarrassing. Very embarrassing. Sam glanced over at Dean. Dean had a triumphant smile on his face, grinning up at Sam and why was he cute and annoying at the same time it made it a lot harder to want to kick his ass.

"He is…" Dean laughed and Sam shot him a bitch face because Dean did not sound like he was playing along anymore that sounded legit and Sam didn't know if he was more offended by Dean calling him fussy or by Dean making Sam look gay when goddammit Dean was the pretty and girly one! 

"Anyway, I know the one you’re talking about. I’m all out."

Sam heaved a sigh. This was almost over. And this cashier guys was a total dick, just because they were pretending to be a couple. What the hell was his problem anyways? It wasn't like he even knew how actually illegal their "relationship" was, this guy hated them just for being together because they both had the same body types? That wasn't cool at all. Even before...everything, Sam had never had a problem with gays. Ever. Especially since he had seen plenty of guys hit on Dean at bars, plenty of waiters that brought extra food with a smile for Dean. Sam had been entirely prepared if Dean were ever to come out, but Dean seemed pretty set on girls. And Sam, apparently. Who he liked to drag into his stupid schemes of evil shit. Wait, had Sam been staring at Dean this whole time? Shit. Sam tuned back in, listening to the soft rumble of Dean's voice.

"Who did?"

"Madge Carrigan, a local lady. She said the wreaths were so special, she gave them to me for free."

"She didn’t charge you?" Wow, that question showed how much attention you were paying, he just said they were free and...Sam mentally shook his head at himself.

"Nope."

"Did you sell them for free?" Dean had this little side smirk on his face that was absolutely one of the most seducing grins Sam had ever seen in his life and wow he really hated Dean a lot.

"Hell no. It’s Christmas. People pay a buttload for this crap."

"That’s the spirit." Sam raised his eyebrows and made a face, but nodded at the cashier anyways. Dean chirped his little polite "thank you for your time!" and then Sam was being forcibly turned around, one of Dean's hands on Sam's arm and the other on his lower back, pushing warmth up Sam's entire spine. Dean kept his hand on Sam's back all the way out the door. 

The second the fresh air hit them, Sam didn't want to test and see if Dean would take his hand off or not, so Sam pushed him off. Literally. Dean stumbled to the side, clearly not expecting the shove from Sam. 

"Hey! What the hell was that for?!" Dean caught himself on the wall and stared at Sam, his mouth open in offense and shock.

"What the hell was _that_?" Sam shouted back, gesturing wildly to the store. Dean looked at him for a moment before his face lit up with recognition and his mouth (that mouth) curved up in a wicked smile. Dean stood back up, brushing himself off dramatically.

"Aw, c'mon, Sammy. Just a little fun is all. No need to get all butthurt about it. Although I guess technically you were my boyfriend, so your butt would be hurt..."

That elicited another shove from Sam and Dean ended up with his back on the brick wall again. The smug bastard was laughing though, tiny crinkles next to his eyes and his mouth big and open and red. 

"What in the world would make you think _I_ would be the bottom?" Dean's laughter suddenly died, and he looked at Sam with big, wide green eyes. It was Sam's turn to straighten up and smile triumphantly. It took way too long already for Sam to take Dean's answer seriously, but he sputtered out something anyways.

"B-because, that's just...I would not be bottom! There's no way I'd- No, man, you so would. I mean, you've got the girly hair and the girly thoughts and the everything and-"

"Yeah, well you're the one with the girly eyelashes and the girly shampoo and the girly-"

"My shampoo isn't girly!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

Then suddenly Dean's protests got cut off and Sam was pressing Dean up against the wall even more, his mouth slotted roughly against his brother's. This was Sam's goddamn payback and goodness it was sweet. Dean's shouting had kept his stupid big mouth open, so Sam's lips were working over Dean's easily, although the surprise took Dean a few seconds before he engaged and kissed Sam back. Then Sam couldn't help it anymore, he was lining his body up against Dean's, pinning him fully to the wall with his chest and his hips tight against Dean's. The heat was amazing, the way they seemed to touch everywhere. 

The rush pullulated through Sam's body, making his hands tighten on Dean's waist, his girly tapered waist that Sam was smart enough not to mention early because then Dean would know Sam noticed. And oh did he notice. Next came the sparks, warmth all over Sam's head where Dean's fingers had suddenly woven through Sam's hair. Sam made a little noise in the back of his throat that he tried his best to hold back. Sam could swear he felt Dean smirk into his mouth, and the fingers tightened in their grip, slightly tugging at Sam's hair. Sam was about to damn devour Dean, if he kept this up. And he probably would have, too, if there suddenly wasn't a bell sound that registered in Sam's head. 

Sam pulled back his mouth from Dean's, which normally was difficult, but Dean was pulling away too, at the same time surprisingly. Wait, maybe that bell wasn't in Sam's head.

"Hey! I'm trying to run a business!" Oh. Shit. The bell on the Christmas store's door. And now the shopkeeper was standing on the sidewalk, his arms crossed and his voice pissed as he yelled at them. Well they were kind of on the wall right next to the store's display window. And making out. It was a good thing Dean didn't tell that guy they were brothers after all.

"Sorry, it's just, thought we saw mistletoe, and you know how it is, Christmas and all we-" Dean somehow had enough brain cells working to not only come up with a kickass excuse, he also managed to lay on the honey in his voice while gently backing Sam up so he was no longer pinning Dean against the wall, all while Sam was still trying to figure out where the hell the mistletoe was.

"Yeah, yeah, just take your mistletoe elsewhere, pal, kay?"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Merry Christmas!" Then Sam was being hustled off, Dean's arm wrapped around his shoulders while Sam was busy fuming about the stupid homophobic cashier. 

The second the bell rang again, the door closing this time, Dean's arm slid down Sam's shoulderblade and around to his arm, his touch suddenly light and teasing, not at all grounding. When Sam turned his head to look over, Dean had a childish grin on his face. Sam couldn't help it, his own (slightly bruised?) mouth curled up too, at the sight.

"Mistletoe, Dean, really?"

"Hey, you got a better explanation?" Sam froze. Actually, uh, no. They never talked about why they kissed...why had they? Holy shit what was happening, why had Sam not pushed talking about this? He had wanted to know, yeah, but Dean would rip him to shreds if Sam asked...right? Wouldn't he? But Sam did have a right to know after all. It was him that Dean was kissing. And okay, Sam was doing his share of the initiating kissing too, but how had they seriously not talked about this? 

"Hello, earth to Gigantore. What do you say we get out of here before we get yelled at again by Ebenezer?" 

"Ebenezer hated Christmas, not gays, moron."

"Good, that makes you Ebenezer then, since you don't hate yourself. At least, I don't think you do most days..."

Dean was laughing as he dodged out of the way of Sam's fist. Then he took off running and it was childish as hell but Sam chased him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean lifted his glass of eggnog, dipping his head slightly towards Sam. "Merry Christmas, bro."

Dean's voice changed from the surprised laughter to this serious tone that suddenly made Sam's world drop out at his feet. Sam was struck dumb for a moment, unable to move or think. _This was it._ He managed to clear his throat and respond though, a bit to eagerly but it blocked some of the pain.

"Yeah. Yeah." Sam lifted his eggnog glass and touched it to Dean's, making their unspoken toast. They both had solemn looks on their faces but Sam attempted to be chipper. "Here, Merry Christmas."

They lock eyes for a moment, then everything is silent. They both turned their heads away from each other. Sam took a drink of his eggnog, feeling Dean's eyes on him. Then Dean made a little sound at the kick in his drink and Sam looked over. There his brother was, sitting the way he always did on the couch, donned in a green shirt and amulet. Sam could remember the night Dean came and got him at Stanford, when they'd wrestled each other to the floor, Dean pinning him down first. Sam hadn't recognized him in the dark (or maybe he was denying his instinct - it couldn't be Dean) until he'd seen the moonlight glint off the necklace Sam had been extremely shocked to see Dean still wearing. And now, Dean was almost 29 and he was still wearing it. Every day. 

Sam glanced back to his drink, then back to Dean again. His features were exquisite in the cheap Christmas lights, the reds and gold highlighting his cheekbones and the green dancing brightly in his eyes. God, he was beautiful. And Sam needed him so much. How could Sam...What was he supposed to do? _This is it. The last time._ Maybe that's what Sam would do. Maybe...Sam should tell him. Sam should tell Dean, tell him why he needed him and how badly and how Dean meant so goddamn much to him. And he should tell him..."that" too. Dean was dying, what did Sam have to lose? Except Dean, obviously, in the last few months he had. But what if Dean didn't leave after Sam told him? Told him why he kissed him, told him why he needed Dean so badly, told him exactly what those green eyes did to Sam, the effect of those cheeky smiles and teasing banter. What if Dean stuck around, what if the last few months got to be the best? What if they could be everything, do everything, be _together_. 

"Hey, Dean, y–." Sam looked over at Dean the Sam time Dean turned his head. Dean looked so light and content. Sam couldn't....he couldn't ruin that. Not tonight. Not when it risked losing Dean with only 128 days left. Dean looked at Sam steadily through his hesitation. Dean was so solid and perfect and everything. One of his eyebrows was raised expectantly, waiting. Patiently waiting for Sam to say it. The one thing Sam could never say. Not tonight. Sam turned his head away and sighed, all his courage draining away. There was moisture forming involuntarily at the edges of Sam's eyes. But it wasn't for not being able to tell Dean...that was okay. Tonight they'd spend as brothers, the last time they got to...to spend like this. _This is it. The last time you spend Christmas with Dean. The last time you spend Christmas happy. This is the last Christmas you get, because this time next year, Dean will be burning in hell. And you will be covered in snow and just as burning as he is._

Sam looked over at Dean again. Those beautiful understanding emerald eyes. That familiar scent, the one Sam associated with Dean and family and home. Sam wasn't sure where it came from, but it was suddenly the right thing to say. "Do you feel like watching the game?"

Dean's face lit up like Sam had just offered the beset thing in the world. 

"Absolutely." He grinned, which was somehow a very serious smile. Now they had something to distract them from it all, at least. How normal was this, the two of them drinking eggnog and watching a game on Christmas. The was the closest Sam would ever need to normal. Dean was the closest Sam would ever need. _All_ he'd ever need. 

"All right." Sam nodded and stood up, leaning over the coffee table and stretching out an arm to turn on the tiny motel TV. It clicked on, thankfully a good volume. Then Sam sat back down, scooting over closer to Dean. Dean leaned back into the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. Sam followed suit, leaning into the cushions as his boots clunked up next to Dean's. 

Sam turned his head and looked over at Dean, the soft TV light flickering on his face. Dean must have felt his gaze, because his face crinkled up in a content smile, before he glanced briefly over at Sam then back to the screen, grinning happily as he brought his glass to his lips again. Sam watched Dean's acknowledging head tilt that was usually reserved for flirty moments. But Sam just smiled, watching Dean wrap his lips around the edge of his glass and tip it back before Sam turned back to the game, lifting his glass too. He watched for a moment before lifting his arm up, settling it on the couch behind Dean's shoulders. Dean scooted his body a little closer, his thigh touching Sam's and his bandaged arm laying lightly on the crease between their legs. 

He glanced over at Dean again, then turned back to the flickering game that was simply a sweet background noise. Sam felt Dean turn his head and glance back at Sam too, the same content smile never leaving his face. They met eyes, both of them entirely content if they never had to leave this moment. Then it was back to the game, watching the players score and the fans cheer, in some distant world where there was no time limit but the one on the game's clock. 

It was a little minutes before Sam turned to Dean again, this time movement at the window catching his eye. Sam turned his gaze on the outside world, watching as snow fell onto the Impala's black paint. The white was a beautiful contrast against the shiny black, even if Dean was going to bitch about rust tomorrow. Sam turned back to Dean, the fingers of his arm on the upper cushion of the couch brushing lightly against the back of Dean's neck.

"It's snowing." Sam half whispered it, making it quiet and private and just between them. Dean turned his head, looking out the window at the Impala too. Then he turned back to Sam, a childish twinkling in his eyes.

"Yeah, look at that." Dean smiling like this, so carefree and happy, Dean deserved this. All the time. That could be Sam's New Year's Revolution, he could make Dean smile as much as he possibly could. It was the most beautiful look of all on his brother. Sam was murmuring his next words before he even realized he was thinking them, low and quiet while his eyes softened contently on Dean's.

"Look at you." The words were full of more affection than Sam had ever dared before, his fingers playing with the fine hairs where Dean's hair faded into his skin at the top of his neck. Dean looked a little surprised, even embarrassed at the words. A blush crept up in his cheeks and he looked down shyly. Sam could not think of a time he'd seen Dean get shy at a compliment. Sam sat down his eggnog on the couchside table, freeing his hand. Then he turned back to the still blushing Dean, tilting the tip of Dean's chin up with gentle fingers underneath. Dean looked up at Sam, his eyes green and his cheeks red and that alone was more than enough Christmas for Sam.

Then he leaned forward, brushing their lips together softly. Dean let Sam tilt Dean's head into the kiss, deepening it slowly and gradually, not a single rushed press of lips or hurried swipe of tongue. Sam just kissed Dean slowly, letting the taste of eggnog transfer between their mouths. 

It wasn't long, and they both pulled back with matching flushed cheeks and shy smiles. Dean looked up at Sam, and with the snow falling and the soft game playing and the eggnog and the tree lights flickering in Dean's eyes, this was perfect. Then Dean turned his head back to the game, snuggling his body against Sam's side, leaning into him the rest of the way and resting his head against the joint of Sam's shoulder and clavical. Sam pulled Dean in with the arm previously slung up on the couch, now wrapped around Dean's shoulders and holding him tightly to Sam's side.

Sam pressed a quick kiss on the top of Dean's hair, the spikes tickling his nose and cheeks. Dean shifted a little in Sam's arms, the warmth of their bodies combining. They both watched the game, occasionally watching what parts of each other they could see. It was the last Christmas. And it was the best Christmas Sam could have ever wished for.

_Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow._

_So have yourself a merry little Christmas now._


	53. Vile (Malleus Maleficarum - 03x09)

When they got back to the motel, the first thing Dean saw when he opened the door was the bright red splats of blood on the floor. He froze, the stabbing knife pains and vile taste of the black liquid still fresh on his mind. Dean just forgot that Sam was always inches behind him, and freezing in the doorway would mean, of course, a collision.

Sam's gigantore feet toed the back of Dean's right shoe, and his hips ran directly into Dean's ass. Which embarrassingly meant that the top halves of their bodies didn't touch, due to the exaggerated slope of Dean's ass being further out than his shoulders. Dean denied having a bubble butt, or bowlegs, on a daily basis, but things like this always tended to remind him.

Sam's body weight rammed in to him from behind, making Dean stumble forward, his body pitching towards the ground. He was about to either face plant or land on his hands and knees in front of Sam, both which would be equally embarrassing. His duffel had already slipped from his fingers, so he could potentially prevent breaking his face. But at what cost? Dean felt his socked foot slip out of the shoe Sam had pinned to the ground. Then his body was about to meet the ground.

An arm slipped around Dean's waist, crooking in a modified basket hold and stopping his fall. Dean could feel the warmth of Sam's hips pressed up against his ass, and half-bent over like he was made this suddenly extremely sexual. Sam had an arm wrapped around the fold in Dean's body, which was pressing Dean hard against Sam. No pun intended. As sweet as the gesture of catching Dean's stupidity-induced fall was, they were now way worse off than they were three seconds ago.

Dean straightened up as quickly as he could, placing his socked foot on the ground. Which of course, based on Dean's awesome luck today, slid out from under him. Dean fell backwards this time, sliding his foot all the way into the air like those stupid banana-peel cartoons. Sam kept his arm around Dean's waist, and the other hooked underneath Dean's armpit, jerking his second fall of the past ten seconds to a slightly painful halt. Dean's back was pressed up against Sam's stomach muscles, and his head landed on Sam's sternum. 

Dean was fairly sure his face was the colour of the walls, and he put down his slidy foot (much more carefully this time) and stood back up as soon as possible. Dean wrenched himself away from Sam's grip just a little violently. Which caused his foot to slide just a little bit, but Dean managed to throw his arms out and steady himself. Sam had reached out for Dean again at the fumble, and Dean turned his shoulder away from Sam's helping hand.

"Are you okay?" Sam's eyes were wide with concern, although Dean was pretty sure he saw a twinkle of amusement there. He looked away quickly, looking down at his feet in favour of Sam's gaze. Dean wiggled his toes, noticing a hole in the top of his sock over his fourth toe. Which was sure to mean that it would be on his big toe if this sock was on the other foot. 

Everywhere Sam had touched him, every single place their bodies had been connected (which was a lot of places), Dean felt flushed and warm, like they were tingling with electricity. He hated that, how Sam could have that effect on him, make him so goddamn tingly and blushing. He hated it a lot.

"Yeah, fine." Dean considered saying thank you for catching him, but he also considered bitching at Sam for watching where he was going, making some comment about his clumsiness finally wearing off on Dean. He decided to say nothing, because they did kind of cancel each other out. 

Sam bent down and scooped up Dean's shoe, tossing it to him. Dean looked up in time to catch it to his chest, although he was still flushed red and avoiding Sam's eyes. He had just fallen over, twice. That shit was embarrassing, especially when he was supposed to have a Hunter's reflexes, instilled in him as a little boy. He'd apparently used them to contemplate whether landing in a doggystyle position or faceplanting would be more trouble. Sam, however used his to become the damn white knight and catch Dean from falling. Twice. 

If their positions had been switched, Dean would be giving Sam so much shit right now. Dean was quite grateful Sam hadn't achieved his goal yet of acting like the dick Dean knew he could be. As it was, Sam was eyeing him wearily like he was a time-bomb with five seconds left on the clock. Which was probably a very reasonable assumption.

Dean slipped his shoe on and spun back around, the blood on the floor catching his eye again. Dean had already been the Damsel in Distress once today, and he cringed looking at the corner of the bed. Less than a couple of hours ago, Dean had been sitting on that bed, his head ducked down as he tried to curl in on himself, his arms reaching out to Sam. 

Sam had sped over and knelt by the edge of the bed, his hand landing gently but firmly on Dean's bicep. Dean had been in a ton of pain, but Sam's touch suddenly gave him gravity, and he anchored himself to it. Sam's other hand landed on Dean's knee, his fingers curling into Dean's leg. Dean tried to breathe, looking towards the door. No witch barged in laughing. Sam held on to Dean, and Dean finally turned his face towards Sam's, their noses only inches apart.

"Man, it's gotta be the coven." Dean had ducked his head down at the end of his words, the knives suddenly twisting even more painfully. One of Dean's hands came up in his hair, and he groaned pitifully, Sam's hands the only thing keeping him from losing his shit. Another sharp stab inside his stomach, and Dean was reaching out for Sam. Dean grabbed on to Sam's jacket, then his arm, needing more of him, needing Sam here _now_. 

Sam started to stand up, his hand sliding from Dean's bicep to his upper shoulder. Dean didn't want him to go, and he adjusted his grip on Sam's arm, grabbing higher and practically pleading for Sam to stay. His other hand stayed over his stomach, trying to stop the pain inside. Sam kept standing, his hand gripping Dean's arm back reassuringly for a moment. Then Sam's other hand patted Dean's shoulder, a silent promise that he was going to make this okay. Dean held onto Sam for as long as he possibly could.

The second that Sam wasn't touching him anymore, the pain spiked even worse. Sam's touch had held it at bay, but now Dean was alone and he fell back on the mattress, screaming out in pain and clutching his stomach. He heard Sam rummaging, then Dean sat back up, getting the strange urge that he was choking. Then Dean coughed and blood came out of his mouth. He'd fallen over on the floor, hands and knees and choking up his own blood. It had been extremely horrible. 

And now that blood was still on the floor, splatters of his own blood and a lovely reminder of the gruesome pain and disgusting black stuff Ruby had shot him with. Dean could see himself, on his hands and knees, then collapsing onto the floor as Sam drove off, blood draining out of the side of his mouth. 

Suddenly Dean really didn't want to be in this room anymore. He turned back around, away from the instant-replay memory. Sam was looking at him, full-on worried now. Dean muttered something about needing fresh air and skirted past Sam and his duffelbag, which was still lying on the floor just in front of the door. 

The motel door shut behind Dean, and suddenly he could breath again. He sucked in air, as much as he could, reveling in how it was chilly and refreshing. He liked January fine, and it was his birthday in a couple days, which this weather was perfect for. Sam and Dean didn't really ever celebrate holidays, but it was Dean's twenty-ninth and he wanted to at least do something. Although it wouldn't be fair to do anything extremely fun, since Sam's birthday this year was going to suck. Just like Sam's birthday last year. Dean really wished he could've sold his soul on a day besides Sam's birthday, but it wasn't like he got a choice in the matter when his little brother got stabbed. So Dean's hell-ticket was booked for May 2nd. Which majorly sucked.

Maybe for his birthday, Dean could convince Sam into star-gazing. It was something Dean should consider really girly, but there was something about it that he loved, regardless of any sort of label. There was nothing quite like him, his baby brother, and his Baby, underneath an open sky with nothing but a six pack and the stars above them. They'd sit on the hood, in some abandoned field or equally empty beautiful place, sharing a drink and looking up at the sky. It was the best Dean could ask for for his birthday, and so long as they didn't stray too far north, the end of January could have some nice weather. 

Maybe they could do it in Texas. Or Kansas. Both had big skies, good weather in January, and plenty of empty space. Dean was just breathing in the cold air and thinking, appreciating the blissful silence. Then the lights flickered, and Dean's serenity got thrown out the window. He looked around, suddenly on edge with anticipation. Not seeing anything initially, he stepped further out on the sidewalk, looking to his left. And right. And behind him. Still nothing.

Then he finally saw her, standing in the parking lot. Ruby. Dean sighed, but she had just saved his life, and more importantly, Sam's. He had an obligation to go talk to her. Even if he'd like to kill her. He still might, you never know.

~*~*~*~*~

When Dean started back to go inside the motel, his mood was majorly dampened. He shouldn't have had hope anyways, it was just. Now it was confirmed and final. Dean was going to hell, there was no way to stop it. 

Dean swung open the door, almost running into Sam. Again. Sam actually skidded to a halt this time, which was nice, because Dean would appreciate not repeating his clumsy embarrassing episode from earlier. Sam had both of their duffel bags on one shoulder, his backpack on the other. Dean raised his eyebrows, then peeked into the room. All of their stuff was gone, including the blood on the floor.

"Thanks." Dean backed out of the doorway, letting Sam out too and closing the door behind him. Sam had totally packed them up and cleared them out, which was extremely not fun. And he even cleaned up the mess of Dean's blood on the floor.

"Yeah, no problem. You ready to hit the road?" Dean could kiss Sam right now. He not only saved Dean from having to go back in that damned hotel room, he also managed to not pester Dean on why, or bring up any of Dean's many embarrassing moments of today. Dean really could not ask for a better brother right now. 

"More than ever." Dean reached up and slid his duffel off of Sam's shoulder, transferring it to his own. Yeah, it was a ten foot walk to the trunk, but Dean had to at least put forth some sort of effort. Sam smiled lightly and made his way off to the trunk, waiting for Dean to come unlock it. 

Dean's mood may have been dampened, but Sam still put a small smile on Dean's face. They threw their bags in the back, and Dean shut the trunk, locking it back up. Sam was just about to walk over to shotgun when Dean reached out and grabbed his wrist. Sam stopped, looking back at Dean with eyebrows arched in surprise. Dean flushed pink again, but at least he wasn't as red as before.

"I-uh. Thanks, for everything. And next time, don't try so hard to get yourself in trouble with demons, kay?" Sam snorted, both of them thinking back to Sam ending up pinned on the wall by the Tammi bitch. Although Dean had done his fair share of getting pinned too. And not in a good way.

Dean didn't really have much of an excuse as to why, but he'd figure out one later if Sam asked. Which Sam never really did. Which was another reason Dean liked Sam a lot right now. Besides, it wasn't like any of the other times there'd been much of a reason. 

Dean leaned up on his tippytoes, and placed a soft kiss against Sam's lips. He was back down on his feet and back over on his side of the car before Sam finally opened his eyes again. Although Dean had hauled ass after he broke apart their lips. It had been like the shortest and girliest kiss ever, but Dean decided it was a victory. Sam looked over at him with wide eyes, then a hand came up to touch his own lips tentatively, like he was remembering Dean there only moments ago. Dean smirked and opened up his door. Hell yeah, that was victory. And many more to come.


	54. Imprimatur (Dream a Little Dream of Me - 03x10)

Sam had a lot of things tumbling through his mind as he threw back the whiskey glass. He'd managed to get out of the motel room while Dean had taken an involuntary nap in front of the computer screen. Sam had left on foot, knowing Dean would flip if he took the car. Sam could still remember Dean's face, his mouth slightly distorted with sleep and his eyes shut too tightly for the dozing off to be entirely comfortable. But Sam needed _out,_ he couldn't stay in that room and watch his beautiful brother sleep, his mind turning over everything, way too many everythings. Like how many days Sam was getting cheated out of, how many more years Dean would have stayed by his side. Or the way Dean's pretty eyelashes swept down over his cheek, making a shadow that Sam had the urge to trace with his fingertips. Why? Why were they at this stage where they kept kissing each other for no reason, giving each other no explanation. You don't just _kiss_ people!

Sam heard the door swing open and he looked at the colored liquid, swishing it around. Heavy familiar bootsteps hurried up to him, and Sam turned his head to see Dean, arms outstretched and relief and surprise written all over his face. Sam had disappeared for half an hour and Dean was worried enough to go search everywhere for him, because god knows the bar was definitely not the first place Dean would look. No, there was a whole list of places before the local bar. Like the library, the diner, the park, the sidewalk if Sam was running, the gas station, anywhere they could pick up supplies, anywhere quiet Sam could think. All of those came before the local bar and Dean had probably searched them all top to bottom before he came here as a last resort. Honestly, Sam was surprised Dean wasn't more pissed.

"There you are! What are you doing?" Dean walked all the way up to Sam's side, standing _really close_ but maybe Sam's depth perception was off a little. That was whiskey for him. Sam just shrugged at Dean's words, looking back at his glass obviously before looking back up at Dean. Sam didn't physically look up at Dean a lot, although he did figuratively. Normally though, Sam bent down to kiss Dean. Sam wondered if Dean would want to be the one bending down. Sam could kiss Dean right now and find out. Except that was the whole reason he was here. Or well, part of the reason. Why the hell had he and his brother turned kissing into a regular thing, Sam needed to _know_.

"Having a drink." Dean looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"It's two in the afternoon, you're drinking whiskey?" Sam shrugged and turned away. His problems didn't magically disappear during the day, hello. It wasn't like they only appeared when it was nine o'clock at night and considered Dean-acceptable to be drinking whiskey. Besides, Sam didn't need Dean's imprimatur, he was twenty three. 

"I drink whiskey all the time."

"No you don't." Dean had this stern but somehow confused look on his face. It would be cute if he wasn't goddamn lecturing Sam like Sam was twelve and had run away or something. Besides, Dean couldn't tell him what he did and didn't do, Dean didn't _know_. Or maybe he did, but that wasn't fair. Sam wanted only Sam to know.

"What's the big deal? You get sloppy in bars and hit on chicks all the time. Why can't I?" Dean turned his head, looking around the bar. Sam didn't say the hit on chicks thing because he was jealous. No sir, Sam Winchester did not get jealous of the thousand and one chicks who ended up in Dean's lap, bringing him alcohol and smiles and flicks of their hair. Sam did not pay attention to how much attention Dean gave those girls, how he treated them like they were the brightest star in the whole sky. Besides, Sam could do that too. Two could play that game.

"Kind of slim pickings around here." Okay, so Sam hadn't been picking up chicks. He could, if he wanted. After all, Dean did, maybe Sam should too. Maybe it wouldn't make him so strung up on the fact that Dean's face was inches (okay, a lot of inches) away and if Sam just reached out and latched a hand around Dean's neck, he could mash their lips together. And solve all of Sam's problems. Except when he broke away, Sam would want to know why and Dean would still be going to hell. And there was nothing Sam could do about either. 

"What's going on with you?" Dean asked it all concerned and up close, leaning over the bar to look as fully at Sam's face as he could. Sam turned to Dean, not looking at the pretty green. Then he turned back to his glass. Then he repeated the process, looking down at the whiskey and seeing hellfire. Seeing Dean, leaving him, in just a couple of months, and it would be all over and there was nothing Sam could do and all he'd ever tried to do was find a way to save Dean. Dean had saved Sam's life more times than Sam could count, and it was Sam's turn. And he failed.

"I tried, Dean." Sam stared at his glass. Dean didn't respond for what felt like forever.

"To do what?" Dean was still all oblivious. It was always in Sam's mind, not even in the back really, always up close and in the front and the only way he ever forgot about it for a few seconds was when Dean's lips pressed against his. But if they kissed for long, (which had only really happened twice), Sam would remember again. He'd remember that the mouth against his had sealed a demon deal that sent his soul to hell and that mouth was going to be dead in a few months. That always made Sam break away, it was too much to have Dean so close and to know he was going to be so gone.

"To save you." Sam threw the words at Dean quietly, turning his head and turning back like it was an obvious thing. Sam felt Dean breathe in, sigh, then there was a scrape as he pulled out the barstool next to Sam's. Sam didn't comment on the fact that they were finally having a drink together, like Dean was bothering him to do for the past couple of weeks. Except Sam was pretty sure Dean wasn't planning on it going like this. The barstool made Dean much further away. Although Dean did scoot it a little closer to Sam than it had been, maybe noticing the large distance too. It still felt like miles though.

"Can I get a whiskey? Double, neat." Dean turned entirely sideways in his chair, propping his arm on the bar and looking at Sam. He had this disbelieving, slightly annoyed look on his face. And ordering the whiskey kind of felt like he was lying, making fun of Sam. After all, he did have his stupid two in the afternoon rule.

"I'm serious, Dean."

"No, you're drunk." Dean said it so matter of factly, like when Sam was drunk, nothing he said counted. That wasn't fair, Dean drank _all the time_ and Sam didn't just dis-count his opinion. 

"I mean, where you're going?" _eternity of fire_ "What you're going to become?" _those beautiful, perfect green eyes, the light in them getting sucked away, melted over into a disgusting, raw black. Sam had to save that light._ Sam shook his head and huffed out a breath. Still not looking at Dean even though Dean was staring him down. Sam was still counting down the days he had left of that light, those green eyes. It hurt to look at with all the whiskey pumping through his blood. "I can't stop it."

Dean stayed quiet, leaving room for Sam to speak. Still. "I'm starting to think maybe even Ruby can't stop it." Dean turned his head away at that one. So Sam turned to look at Dean, since Dean was looking away and it was safe to study the dark smudge of his eyelashes sloping over his cheeks. "But the thing is, no one can save you."

"That's what I've been telling you." Sam saw the annoyed axiomatic set of Dean's mouth, shouting duh! practically in Sam's face.

"No, that's not what I mean." Dean turned to Sam, and it was too late to turn away now, now that his eyes had that dead lock on Sam's, checkmate and Dean was so goddamned perfect Sam hated him for it sometimes. "No one can save you because you don't wanna be saved."

Dean's gaze cut away, keeping his face carefully neutral. It wasn't fair, all of everything perfect Dean was, and not just physically. Dean was an amazing person, a hero, _Sam's_ hero, he saved people and he helped people and he never thought about himself. It wasn't fair, and Sam honestly did not understand it at all. Did Dean not notice it? Did he not see how he hated himself so much? Sam wanted to be able to _do_ something, to intervene and make Dean look in the mirror and see how worthy he was, how magnificent and perfect. Maybe that was one of the reasons Sam kissed Dean. So Dean could feel it, could know physically, how much Sam cared, how much Sam practically worshipped his big brother. Although that still didn't get Sam any closer to any of the reasons Dean ever kissed Sam.

"How do you care so little about yourself?" Dean made an amused face, like Sam had just said something cute and childish. What had happened to Dean to make him hate himself? Why? "What's wrong with you?" 

Dean kept one eyebrow raised, looking at Sam with defiance and disbelief. Like he couldn't believe Sam had said it out loud. Well he had. And now Dean would have to answer. Even if he didn't answer Sam's question directly, he'd say something that Sam would be able to take apart, analyze, figure out what Dean really meant behind it. Dean tilted his head, breaking their staring contest for a few seconds. He was going to say something. His mouth opened up, probably some smartass remark coming out of it. And Sam was ready to answer that smartass remark with a rebuttle that went something like _don't you know that's one of the reasons why I can't stop kissing you? Because you are so perfect and you don't see it? don't you know? I don't know why you kiss me, Dean, won't you tell me?_ Then maybe Dean would actually tell him, and maybe Sam could convince Dean to love himself half as much as Sam loved him. 

Then Dean's phone rang. Sam glared at the phone as Dean fished it out of his pocket. Dean picked up, and Sam looked at his glass. 

"What?" Dean's voice suddenly changed, and Sam looked over. "Where?" Dean looked back at Sam, concern suddenly all over his face. Then Dean snapped his phone shut, clearly pained.

"It's Bobby. He's in the hospital." Sam sat his drink down, swiveling on the stool to get up. The bar suddenly turned sideways though, and Sam cursed. The world couldn't just _change directions_ that was really fucking bitchy to do. Sam tried turning himself, getting the bar to be straight again, then there were suddenly hands on him. Sam blinked, reaching out to grab at the arms attached to the hands that helped him off the stool, Dean's hands, one on his ribcage and one tight on his arm, lifting the bar back to straight and escorting him forward. The bar tilted dangerously a few times, but Sam managed to put one foot in front of the other all the way to the door. The door wasn't wide enough for them to fit through like this, and Sam shook his head and blinked a few times. If he just had some water, making he could make the swimming head rush go away. Or some sleep. Maybe Sam could sleep right here, they could bring Bobby to them and everything would be fine.

"Sam!" Sam jolted his eyes open again, although they'd just barely drifted half closed. "C'mon, man, let's go!" Sam squinted at the door and then at Dean. Dean was pretty. Then suddenly Dean was a lot closer and Sam thought maybe Dean would kiss him, but then Dean's mouth was gone? And Sam was getting bustled through the door, Dean practically hugging Sam to get him through. You know, Sam wasn't _that_ drunk, if only Dean would walk a bit slower, he was sure he could keep up and barely stumble at all. It was just Dean was going so fast and Sam wasn't in a place he could go that fast. So he let Dean squeeze them through the door, and latched a grip onto Dean's arm as Dean guided him around to the shotgun side of the car, opening up Sam's door for him and practically shoving Sam inside. Sam considered bitching at Dean for that, but then the engine was starting and soft rock was tumbling out of the radio and Sam was still tired even though it was "only two in the afternoon" and he was asleep on the window before he managed out another word. Which was probably really good, because sleep was Sam's best cure for being drunk, for sure. That and water. But Dean always had a military canteen of water around here somewhere. For now, sleep was good. Sleep was the best.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"If I don't get some goddamned shuteye sometime soon, I'm killing something. I swear, it doesn't matter what it is, I will kill something."

"Dean, calm down. We just have to find this guy-"

"This guy?! As in the guy that is going to Freddy Kruger me the second I shut my eyes?!"

"Dean, will you _please_ let me drive? You do not want to wrap this car around a telephone pole."

"Sam, I told you, I can't sit shotgun. It's the fastest way for me to fall asleep and I am not going to die because some creep is walking in my dreams!"

"Then at least pull over, okay? Bobby said he's getting the info on another lead and there's nothing we can do in the meantime. There's a motel up there, let's just get a room and play cards and drink coffee or watch bad TV or something." 

Sam was expecting getting yelled at again, but Dean surprisingly whipped the car into the motel parking lot instead. They were halfway through their second day, and Dean had more caffeine in his system than he knew what to do with. Sam had tried staying up with Dean last night, but he'd eventually crashed. He'd felt bad about it, sleeping curled against Dean's side while Dean was left to watch the rest of whatever movie had been on by himself. When Sam had woken up, there had been three more empty coffee cups on the coffee table where their feet were overlapping each other. And Dean had been grumbling something to himself, which was extremely muffled due to Sam's ear on Dean's chest. But Dean had stayed awake regardless, and they'd made it through their first night without any casualties.

It was probably six o'clock now, twelve hours and seven coffee cups later. Sam was quite concerned for Dean's health, and if it weren't for the fact that Dean was going to die if he didn't have the coffee, Sam would be throwing a bitch fit. Once this was over, he was definitely going to force Dean on a liver cleanse, and keep coffee away from him for a month. 

They got a room at the motel, which wasn't in awesome condition, but it was good enough for the purpose. Sam picked up a couple of dark chocolate bars at the check-in's vending machine. Dean didn't love dark chocolate, he was a milk chocolate guy, but it had some caffeine in it and it was a hell of a lot healthier than the coffee Dean was drinking on twenty minute intervals. Dean crashed down onto one of the beds, being sure to stay sitting up so he wouldn't sleep as easily. Sam tossed him the chocolate and Dean caught it, making a face at the word "dark" but unwrapping it anyways.

Sam rummaged through his duffel until he came across what he'd been looking for, a very worn (probably stolen) deck of cards. This deck of cards had come with them everywhere, from as early as Sam could remember back, sitting on a bench in a laundry mat and picking one out of the deck with chubby fingers, flicking them all at Dean when he won. Or cheated. Which normally went hand in hand. 

_C'mon, Sammy, your hand is written all over your face. Let me guess...three nines?_ Sam had grinned up at Dean, pestering him with how did you know's. Dean would just grin and look down at his own hand. _There's nothin you could keep from me, Sammy._ That had been back in the days before Sam resented poker, wishing he'd had a childhood of go fish! instead of royal flushes and full houses and betting goldfish or m &ms. 

Sam ran his fingers over the card deck affectionately, remembering finding them in Dean's duffel a month after Jessica had died. The same deck, a corner missing from the 7 of spades, the jack of hearts missing entirely. Which made games of slapjack much more frustrating. Sam kept them in his duffel now, probably because it was way more organized than Dean's and Sam didn't feel like running his hands through dirty black shirts to attempt to find some source of entertainment at the laundry mat. 

He laid out the deck in front of Dean on the bedspread, climbing up on the blue blankets across from Dean. Sam struggled putting his long legs into a crisscross position on the sagging mattress, but managed it eventually, after a snicker from Dean. Sam shot him a dirty glare. Dean just made an innocent face and began shuffling. They played a modified version of BS Dean had made up once, which was much more fitting for just two people than the original version. Sam was fairly sure Dean only liked this game because he got to shout "bullshit" at Sam without getting a bitch face. Although some of his over zealous shouts still got one.

Dean cocked his head, his cards perfectly fanned out in one hand and half eaten chocolate bar in the other. Sam had to make a very conscious effort not to watch Dean's lips close over the chocolate, biting off ridiculously small pieces and letting them melt on his tongue as he stared at his cards, mouth twisted up sideways and contemplating his next move. It was unfairly cute. 

Sam managed to pay attention to the card game for the first half of the chocolate bar. Then he started losing, the pile of cards in his hands diminishing ridiculously. In traditional BS, that was a good thing, but when Dean changed the rules, he changed that too, because having all the cards made him feel like a winner anyways. Sam was down to four cards when Dean broke off a piece of chocolate with a particularly loud snap, licking the corner of his mouth with his tongue as he let the chocolate sit on his tongue. Okay, that was it.

Sam practically lunged over the pile of cards between them, his mouth landing roughly on Dean's and his hands dropping his cards in favour of Dean's pretty waist. Dean made a surprised sound that got muffled by Sam's tongue in his mouth, running over Dean's tongue and the taste of chocolate. Dean seemed to kind of get it at that point, his eyes finally closing and leaning back towards Sam instead of away from him. 

Dean tasted so overwhelmingly Dean, but mixed with an actually decent dark chocolate taste. Sam was fairly sure he'd had a dream something like this recently. Dean let Sam suck his tongue between his lips, fighting back the insane urge to moan at how crazy this sensation felt. Dean didn't seem to be too opposed either, eagerly kissing Sam back and threading his fingers through Sam's hair. Although Sam was pretty sure Dean had closed up his hand and set is aside in a careful pile first. Although there wasn't much point to that, since Sam had kind of just thrown his and let them scatter everywhere. 

They probably looked like a wreck right now, messily sucking on each other's lips and tongues, a fallen half-eaten chocolate bar and a mess of cards on the bed around them. Sam licked at the same corner of Dean's mouth that Dean had licked earlier, his head swirling with how turned on it made him. The rush of that thought, and the way Dean kept twisting his mouth against Sam's, sent a warm blush of arousal to Sam's now tenting jeans. Shit.

Sam pulled away, practically panting. Dean looked at Sam wide-eyed, his mouth open and his hair slightly ruffled. God, Sam's hair probably looked ridiculous. 

"Well, that's one way to wake a guy up." Dean said it with a side smile, his shoulders shrugging slightly and eyes sparkling. Sam blushed and looked down briefly. Dean's hand cupped Sam's chin and brought his eyes back up to look at Dean. Dean had this grin on his face that was wickedly adorable.

Dean's eyes flicked down from Sam's eyes to his lips then back up. Sam's attention was suddenly drawn to the building coil of warmth in his lower stomach again. Oh god. Before Sam could protest or push off and go take care of his now growing (no pun intended) problem, Dean latched onto his mouth again, bringing back the bitter flavor of the dark chocolate to contrast the sweetness that should not have been Dean's natural mouth but was. Sam couldn't help it, he kissed Dean back hopelessly, his hands roaming Dean's back up to his neck and through the gelled spikes, ruffling them a bit more. Dean gripped Sam's face like it was the only thing keeping him alive. It might be, since Dean hadn't had coffee for almost an hour and the second he got sleepy, he was a dead man. Sam was more than happy to help.

Dean pulled back his mouth, kissing Sam with short, sloppy, repetitive pecks. Sam's entire world was shattering.

"You know," kiss, twist of their mouths, break apart, "...you should've..." quick lick across Sam's bottom lip. "...totally said something..." another kiss, this one deeper and hungry. When Dean pulled back this time, he pulled back far enough to look Sam in the eyes. Sam forced himself not to chase Dean's mouth. "...about your chocolate kink."

"What?!" Sam leaned back in and covered Dean's mouth with his. Sam opened his mouth against Dean's and closed it again, sliding their lips across each other. Then it was opened mouth again, and Sam turned his head just a little, enough to give him a gap at the side of the mouth he could talk through.

"It is not a kink!" The words were muffled by Dean's mouth, but clear enough Sam was pretty sure he heard him. Then Sam was back on Dean's mouth fully again. Dean made a dubious sound against Sam's lips, and Sam sighed into Dean's mouth, pulling back his lips just far enough to speak, brushing them against Dean's with his words.

"I just..." Sam mushed their mouths together. "...you're mouth was..." Sam kissed Dean again, letting that be an answer for the next word. Then he pulled back a little again. "...yeah. The chocolate just happened to be there."

Dean smiled against Sam's lips, tightening his grip in the back of Sam's head and hauling him in closer, ending the conversation and getting back to just kissing Sam. Dean slot their mouths sideways again, lazily let his tongue explore the inside of Sam's mouth, taking the chocolate taste and spreading it over every inch of what Sam didn't even know he could taste from. Sam was highly considering just pushing Dean backwards against the bed, taking this one step further than they had so far, turning this make out session into a horizontal one. He could practically picture rolling on too of Dean, pushing one knee between Dean's legs and kissing over to Dean's jaw, the pretty noises Dean would be sure to make-

 _ringringring_ Dean's pocket vibrated and the shrill noise pierced the air, making them both jump. Dean broke his mouth away, one hand still wrapped around Sam's neck as he dug in his pocket with his free hand. Dean pulled out the phone and flipped it open, bringing it up to his ear. Sam ducked his gaze down from Dean's mouth, breathing out a slow, broken breath in attempt to steady his racing heart.

"Yeah?" Dean's voice sounded spent, and Sam wasn't sure if that was him or the tiredness setting back in. "You got a lead? Yeah. Okay, yeah. Got it. We're on it." 

Dean let go of Sam and snapped the phone shut, using one hand to widen his pocket and the other to slip his phone back in. Sam lifted his head, at least breathing semi-normal now.

"Bobby's got a lead on a strip-club the guy was a regular at." Dean swung his legs to the side of the bed, scooting a bit and standing up. "C'mon man, let's go."

Dean slapped Sam's foot as he walked past, and Sam absolutely did not follow Dean's ass with his eyes as Dean walked away. He turned away, flushed, and gathered the cards up with a sweep of his hands. And the chocolate bar Dean left. Sam took a bite of it, smiling at how it tasted like Dean. He checked the wrapper, noting the brand and mentally categorizing it under things that are going to forever remind him of his brother. Except this time, the taste of his brother.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Alright, that's it, I'm done." Dean shut off the engine and took off his seatbelt, adjusting himself back in the seat to rest his head. Sam looked over at him worriedly.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking myself a long overdue nap." Dean adjusted his shoulders, his head leaning back all the way as he closed his eyes defiantly. Sam stared at him with annoyance, considering thumping Dean on the chest and not letting him sleep.

"What?! Dean, Jeremy can come after you!" As if Dean had forgotten, but really? How immature was Dean? He couldn't just take on the kind of dreamwalking in his own head, Dean's head was the worst place for Dean to fight. Just look what happened to Bobby!

"That's the idea."

"Excuse me?" Sam kept his voice high and annoying because Dean was not doing this without them talking about it and Sam was not going to let Dean be all sucidial on his watch. No siree. Dean sat up, looking at Sam for a moment with a bitch face on, then laying his head back down.

"C'mon man, we can't find him, so let him come to me." Yeah, right, because that was a brilliant idea. Dean fighting solo. The stupid bastard!

"On his own turf? Where he's basically a god?" Dean swallowed and closed his eyes.

"I can handle it." Sam looked at Dean for a moment, fuming. Fine. Two can play that game. But Sam was not sending Dean in without backup, absolutely not.

"Not alone, you can't." Sam reached over and plucked a hair out of Dean's stubborn head. That made Dean sit up. He put a hand to his head, glaring at Sam.

"Ow! What are you doing?" Sam didn't look over, made his voice quiet and sensible again.

"Coming in with you." Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sam put Dean's hair in the little bottle of dreamroot juice. Dean was looking over at him but Sam didn't return the gaze. He was busy making a Dean-dream-cocktail.

"No, you're not!" Dean shouted it, loudly, and Sam jumped, but turned to look over at Dean.

"Why not? At least then it'll be two against one." Dean had this horrified look on his face. Sam just leveled out his gaze. He was doing this whether Dean wanted him to or not. Dean turned away for a moment, suddenly shy or embarrassed or something, but actually quiet. Sam looked at him expectantly. Dean better have a really good reason. Although Sam doubted he'd listen even if it was.

"Cause I don't want you digging around in my head." Well, when Dean put it like that, Sam _had_ to go. Maybe this whole dreamroot thing was a blessing in disguise. Maybe he'd finally get the answers to all of his questions, like why Dean didn't care about himself and why Dean kissed him and what the hell Dean dreamed about.

"Well too bad." Dean looked at him angrily, then just turned his head to the window. Sam tipped back the glass, downing the disgusting liquid. Then he blinked, and when his eyes opened again he was leaning against the window of the car, sleeping. Sam opened his eyes and blinked out the grogginess, noticing they were in the exact same spot they had been. Sam turned over and looked at Dean, who was sleeping against his window too. Finally, Dean actually got some rest. Dangerous, yeah. That is, if this had actually worked.

Sam had a funny feeling that maybe it didn't. Unless Dean was dreaming about sleeping in the car next to Sam? Which would be strange as hell. Well, either this was the realworld or Dean's dreamworld, but either way Dean needed to be awake. Sam reached over his arm and slapped it against Dean's arm, accompanied with a sharp _Dean._

Dean shot awake, sucking in air. 

"Jeez. For the love of God." Dean looked around outside, then looked over at Sam, confusion on his face too. His face still looked super tired, even though be in Dean's dream. Right?

"What are we still doing here?" Sam had been thinking the exact same thing. Sam knew Dean's happy place was beside Sam in the car, but this was a little strange.

"I have no idea." Sam threw around a couple of ideas in his head, about to offer some to Dean to see what kind of reaction he got. Just as Sam was about to open his mouth again, a sound clanked outside of the car. 

"There's someone out there." They both stepped out of their consecutive doors, and Sam held his breath. He had no idea what kind of things he was going to see in Dean's dreams, or how much was actually Dean vs. Jeremy's twisted hallucinations. Like how Bobby's wife tried to kill him, which clearly had not been part of reality at all. Either way, Sam was about to find out.

~*~*~*~*~

They were standing by the open trunk, Sam tossing his duffel in and Dean zipping up his. Dean got a tense set to his shoulders like he did sometimes, right before he was about to talk about something that was troubling him.

"Hey, Sam. I was wondering." Dean paused, swallowing and looking briefly shy. "When you were in my head, what did you see?"

After Lisa (which had been a little strange - Sam didn't know Dean had dreams of normalcy too. Oddly, Sam was comforted by the scene with Lisa, it made Sam feel like less of a freak for dreaming of a life like that, picking up a kid from baseball, if Dean dreamt about it too) Sam hadn't actually gotten to spend any time in Dean's head at all. Like, at all. It was upsetting on a lot of levels and as much as Sam wanted a redo, he didn't get one. Sure, they still had some African Dreamroot that was going to get a permanent place in the trunk, but Sam couldn't do that to Dean without Dean's explicit permission.

"Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out that way, I guess." Dean scoffed, but actually seemed to believe Sam. Which was good, it meant Dean wasn't being paranoid about what he saw in his own head. Or he was just a better actor lately. Either way, Dean hadn't told Sam what he'd seen. Which was odd, considering they shared everything with each other. "What about you? You never said."

Dean just shook his head, dismissing the question like it wasn't important.

"Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time." Well that was bullshit if Sam ever heard it, but what could he do? If Dean was going to be stubborn, Dean was going to be stubborn. Besides, there were plenty of things in Sam's head that he would never ever want Dean to see. Because they were about Dean. 

Sam sighed as he climbed into shotgun. Maybe he could convince Dean to tell him tonight, under the security of their shared blanket. The sleeping arrangement between them had kind of switched, making sleeping apart a rare thing now, just like how sleeping together used to be a rare thing. But Dean had less than three months left, Sam wasn't spending any of that time halfway across a room if he could help it.

"Sam." Sam looked over at Dean, who was busy staring at the steering wheel. 

"Yeah?" Dean still didn't turn to him, clearing his throat and talking to the wheel instead, like it was somehow the easiest solution.

"I've been doing some thinking, and... Well, the thing is... I don't wanna die." Sam basically melted, the weight of all of that trapped sadness falling down on him in an avalanche. 

"I don't wanna go to hell." Sam swallowed, not being able to give Dean an answer at first. It was words Sam never thought would come out of Dean's mouth, and they hurt. A lot. His big brother, who pretended to fear nothing, was admitting it, admitting he was scared. And what could Sam say? Except what he'd been telling himself over and over for the past nine months: There was a way. There had to be a way. 

Sam nodded his head softly, his words gentle to match.

"All right. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you."

Dean looked over at Sam, his eyes searching and hopeful. Sam kept his gaze steady, letting the honesty of his words and intentions be clear on his face. Dean seemed a little more at ease at that, and looked back away nodding. There was a pause, then he looked back a Sam again, a tiny smile on his mouth.

"Okay, good." Dean said it shakily, and Sam's heart nearly broke in two. Instead of falling apart like he felt like doing, Sam just nodded, reassuring Dean the best he could. Dean looked back away from Sam, his eyes glossing over for a moment while he thought, too long and too hard. Sam watched the bit of hope start to drain, and he suddenly couldn't take that again. Whatever Dean was seeing in his head was taking it all away and Sam couldn't let that happen again.

He reached over a hand, tilting Dean's face back towards his gently, watching as surprise took Dean and his eyes resurfaced, back in the present. Sam touched their lips together softly, as gentle and promising as he could. Dean's plush lips were soft against his, making Sam's mouth curve up in a small smile as he pulled away. Dean blinked in slow motion, looking at Sam with hope and contentment back in his eyes. Sam leaned back in his seat, smiling triumphantly out the window as Dean started the car. They were going to be okay. Dean was going to be okay, Sam was sure of it.


	55. Disconcerting (Mystery Spot - 03x11)

Sam woke up breathing heavy, but Dean figured it probably wasn't a very big deal. He turned up Asia, as loud as the little green radio could take it. Then he made his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and filling up a glass with water, tipping his head back to gurgle it. Dean could see Sam in his peripherals, staring open mouthed at Dean. It was really freakin weird.

Dean leaned over the sink and spit out the water, grabbing a towel and patting his face. Sam was still staring.

"If you take a picture, it'll last longer." Dean turned and looked at Sam, wagging an eyebrow. Sam just blinked and swallowed, his eyes wide. Something was definitely up with sasquatch today.

Then they were walking over to the diner for breakfast and Sam finally caved, telling Dean that he was pretty sure he was stuck in a time loop. Apparently, the past two days had been Tuesday too. Dean had made a comment somewhere along the lines of _yeah, you're totally balanced_. And been shot the death glare of the century that Dean only avoided by opening the diner door. 

They sat down in the middle booth, because middle booths let you see everything which was good for when you were working a case. Even though they really should be hunting down Bella, but Sam wasn't listening to him. And apparently he also didn't care that Tuesday's special had an awesome name, Pig 'n a Poke.

"Okay, would you listen to me, Dean? 'Cause I am flipping out." Yeah, clearly Sam was flipping out. And off his meds. Even though he didn't take any anyways. Maybe he should. The waitress lady walked up, notepad in hand and big grin on her face.

"Are you boys ready?" Dean opened his mouth to order, but Sam suddenly cut in.

"He'll take the special, side of bacon, coffee, black. Nothing for me, thanks." Dean stared at Sam. Since when did Sam order for him? Ordering for people was extremely coupley. And kind of hot. Dean felt himself flush at that thought, but damn. Sam, being all dominant and overpowering, ordering for Dean and not giving him the chance to say a word. That was something Dean was pretty sure he'd never forget. And something he'd probably have to guiltily push out of his mind the next time he was jerking off in the shower.

"You got it." The waitress even seemed overwhelmed. How could you not be? Dominant Sam was quite a sight. Dean grinned and leaned back in his chair, unable to let that go without at least one comment.

"Sammy, I get all tingly when you take control like that." 

"Quit screwing around, Dean." Okay, so it was super duper sexual, but no one here knew they were brothers, Sam had no reason to snap, god. Except that apparently he thought he was having a life crisis. Which presided over the very important conversation of the affect Sam's display of dominance had on Dean, apparently. 

"Okay. Okay." They were not done with this conversation though, they seriously needed to talk about this later. Because as much as Dean may have been teasing Sam with the tingly comment, he definitely meant it. Although Sam's face had "now is not the time" written all over it. Dean could respect that. "I'm listening. So, so – you think that you're in some kind of a what again?"

"Time loop."

"Like "Groundhog Day".

"Yes, exactly. Like "Groundhog Day"." Sam jumped on that, wayyy over eager. Dean nodded, his eyebrows up.

"Uh-huh." Sam's face sunk.

"So you don't believe me." Dean laughed lightly. It wasn't whether or not he _believed_ Sam. It was just. Well.

"It's just a little crazy, I mean even for us crazy, you know, like, uh—"

"Dingo ate my baby crazy?" Dean paused. What?

"How'd you know I was going to say that?" Sam leaned forward over the table, his best explaining face on.

"Because you said it before, Dean, that's my whole point." Yeah, that made buttloads of sense. The waitress appeared again, carrying a tray and setting down Dean's coffee in front of him.

"Coffee, black, and some hot sauce," Sam looked at Dean pointedly then looked at the tray. Dean followed his gaze and watched as the hotsauce began to tip over the edge. "for the—whoops! Crap."

The hotsauce fell from the tray and Sam caught it easily, handing it back to the waitress without looking once, just staring at Dean the whole time. She looked super surprised, and took the hotsauce back, grateful and amazed. 

"Thanks." Dean shot her a (proud) grin, because yep, that was his Sammy, saving the day one hotsauce bottle at a time. She sat it down and walked off, leaving Sam to still stare at Dean.

"Nice reflexes." Dean didn't give out compliments much, but that was pretty cool. 

"No. I knew it was going to happen." Dean sighed. Sam was looking at this from the wrong angle, there had to be some other way this stuff was happening.

"Okay, look. I'm sure that there's some sort of an explanation—"

"You're just going to have to go with me on this, Dean, you just have to, you owe me that much!" Sam was practically shouting and some people were starting to turn their heads. Dean spoke in his quiet, listen-to-me-Sammy voice, the one he'd had to use back when Sam was like ten. And apparently now, when Sam was twenty three.

"Calm down–"

"Don't tell me to calm down! I can't calm down. I can't. Because—" Sam paused, breathing in a heavy gulp that moved his entire body. Dean's patient listen-to-me-Sammy voice had been quickly replaced by the you-better-have-a-good-fucking-reason-for-making-a-scene-and-embarrassing-me voice.

"Because what?" Sam had his head turned to the side, but he brought it back to look at Dean with a sassy swish that Dean would have called him out on if the next words hadn't been so surprising.

"Because you die, today, Dean." Dean drew his head back. What? Sam had this really serious look on his face and this was ridiculous.

"I'm not gonna die. Not today." Sam just looked at him, his eyes full of this raw pain.

"Twice now. I've watched you die, and I can't—" Sam shook his head slightly, anger and rage and pain written all over his features. Dean sat up a little straighter. Maybe this was all real. If Sammy was this worked up...God knows Dean would be a raging mess. Dean's features melted into this sympathetic mess, but if Sam was telling the truth then Dean knew how that was. Knew what it was like to watch your brother's life slip through your fingers, watch the brilliant light fade away.

"I won't do it again, okay? You're just going to have to believe me. Please." Dean looked at Sam levely. Even if this wasn't happening, Sam was still getting affected like it was. So Dean would do anything it took to get that pain out of his eyes.

"All right. I still think you're nuts, but okay, whatever this is, we'll figure it out." Sam nodded unhappily. But Dean meant that. There was nothing that the two of them couldn't figure out. 

_We'll figure it out, okay? Just like we always do._

 

~*~*~*~*~

Dean was busy tying the laces on his boots when Sam bolted upright in the bed next to him, his hands grabbing fistfuls of the sheets and his hair going all over the place.

"Whoa, easy there tiger!" Dean said, scanning Sam over and a little bit worried about the sudden terrified look on Sam's face.

Sam's eyes were wide when he snapped his head over to look at Dean. Dean put his boot back down, his own eyes reflecting a bit of the fear in Sam's. Something was horribly wrong, something had happened because Sam did _not_ look like that when he went to bed last night. They'd had a _very_ long day in the car on Monday, and had both collapsed on the separate beds, Sam mumbling something about needing space or his body was going to be permanently cramped and twisted into the shape of the car seat. Dean had murmured agreement into his pillow, lying with his arms and legs spread out and taking up the entire bed. Neither of them was in the mood for sleeping with only half of a bed, so they went to their separate pillows for once. 

Sam had been tired, yeah, but he hadn't been like how he looked right now. Sam looked like he'd been hauled off into the worst nightmare possible for like, twenty nights. Dean was sitting on the edge of Sam's bed in seconds, reaching out his hand to slowly touch Sam's leg through the comforter. Sam looked down surprisedly at Dean's hand, then his wide eyes met Dean's again.

Dean had actually been planning the morning to go quite a bit differently than this, Asia had been on the radio and Dean had been in a wickedly good mood. He'd actually gotten more sleep than he was counting on without a warm body next to him. Dean had woke up with a smile on his face, but the state Sam woke up in was definitely going to overrule all that.

"Nightmare?" Dean asked the word quietly. Sam got this really strange sort of smile like he knew way more than he was telling. Like Dean was somehow being amusing in asking if he had a nightmare. Okay, that was disconcerting.

"Actually, worse." Dean raised his eyebrows and tilted his head at Sam. Worse than a nightmare? How? Dean had been _right here_ , how could something worse have happened...that is, unless Sam snuck off in the middle of the night again like he did to go kill that crossroads demon. He better fucking not have. Dean opened his mouth to ask when suddenly Sam ran a hand through his hair (making it even more disheveled) and leveled Dean with this look that Dean couldn't place. That was a first. 

"Sammy, what's going o-"

"Dean, why do you kiss me?" Dean froze, literally, totally unable to move, his mouth stuck in the open position it had been in. Sam just looked at him expectantly, his legs still tangled in the bedsheets and Dean's hand clamped over one, his hair sticking out in at least seven directions. Sam should have looked ridiculous, but he looked really serious instead. And older, too. Like this wasn't the little brother complaining about cramped limbs that had fallen asleep turned towards Dean yesterday. 

Dean was so caught off guard about the question he almost considered just telling Sam the truth. For just a moment, the words were on the tip of his tongue. _When you left for Stanford Sammy, I finally figured it out._ Then reality kicked in and Dean practically jumped off the bed, his hand returning to his side and his eyes leaving Sam's, looking down at his almost tied boots instead. Dean wasn't really sure how to smoothly get out of this one. Not touching Sam was helping his mental clarity (although normally it was the opposite - but when it came to talking about how he felt about Sam, touching him was the worst thing imaginable), but Dean was still extremely lost. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Yeah, he had literally no idea of what to say. 

God, what Dean would give to just redo this day, start over from the second Sam woke up and _not talk about this._ Instead, make some crack about Asia and finish tying his boots properly, then go out for breakfast and have some interesting conversation with Sam that did not involve Sam asking him questions like that. If Dean could just go back in time five minutes, he could avoid this and the way it was making his feet itch to run out the door. He actually considered that, backing out the door and running to the car and locking himself in and listening to the High Voltage album until Sam decided he wasn't going to ask questions like that anymore. Maybe if Sam had tried to stop him from jumping up, grabbed his wrist or something, maybe then Dean would have bolted. Now, though, he just stayed frozen. 

"Dean?" Dean's head snapped back up at Sam's voice. Sam was still sitting, just looking at Dean. It was way too much, Dean couldn't do this. He couldn't have this conversation, and he was promptly going to forget it never happened. 

He finally sucked in air, filling his lungs back up. Except the air he just pulled into his lungs got stopped up on their way there. The oxygen hit the wrong tube, and suddenly Dean was coughing. He put a hand to his chest, suddenly realizing that in fact, air wasn't going in his lungs. Like, at all. As the pressure built up more in his chest, his eyes began to water and Dean swore in his head, cursing and promising that he wasn't ever going to hold his breath during times of crisis again. 

Oh, God, _air_. Dean needed oxygen right now or he was going to pass out. Some non-oxygen-deprived part of his brain registered Sam's hands on him, his voice, saying something that was either "breathe" or "dean." Either way, both seemed pretty unlikely right now. The pain in his chest shot up higher and Dean doubled over, choking on the air caught in his throat. Dean stuck out a hand to brace his fall to the floor, but Sam was already there, lowering him down with gentle, huge arms. 

Dean's body was wracking with airless punches now, and Sam rolled Dean over in his arms, bringing Dean's face to look up at Sam's. Sam's eyes were watering and his hands were on Dean's face, then his chest and his back, trying to save him. If Dean hadn't been choking, the words he'd been figuratively choking over earlier would have come tumbling out. _Sam, I love you._

Then the pain seered up again, and everything went black.

 

~*~*~*~*~

Sam had asked Dean 31 times now, before he decided it was an absolute waste. Everytime, Dean closed up on him. Or ran out the door. Or ignored his question. Or choked on air and died. So yeah, clearly all of this time Sam had to try to figure things out with Dean was pointless. He couldn't even rule out any methods he used to ask Dean for a normal day, once they broke out of the time loop. Because a normal day, Dean wouldn't end up dying before Sam could get an answer out of him.

Although, lately, normal days were slowly fading to "the time before" and Sam was just expectant of Tuesdays now.

Out of every little detail that changed, every little alteration, Sam still couldn't get desensitized to Dean's death. It shouldn't hurt anymore, 79 Tuesdays later, but everytime honestly hurt just as badly as the first. It would be the minorest of consolations if Sam was able to eventually overcome the pain, but he knew it wouldn't ever happen. 

It made Sam realize how well he knew Dean though, how much time they spent falling into routine and taking each other for granted, how Sam still had yet to learn anything new or surprising about his brother in the 79 days that he'd had nothing to do but get closer to Dean. Maybe it was because Dean didn't have those 79 days too, because Sam had to start over each day.

Honestly, if felt a bit like 50 First Dates, some (chick flick) Adam Sandler movie where he had to make a girl with short term memory loss (one day's span actually) fall in love with him again every day. That movie had been on TV in some motel room a year or so ago. Dean had spent half the movie laughing his ass off and the other half trying to convince Sam that it wasn't a chick flick, it was a comedy. Sam had rolled his eyes. It wasn't Sam Dean was convincing anyways, it was himself. But Sam bantered back about it anyways.

The difference was, though, Sam wasn't really trying to convince Dean to fall in love with him (he was pretty much sure that would never happen ever) every day, he was just trying to save Dean's life. Which, after a while, got extremely tiring. Not tiring like Sam wouldn't spend every ounce of his waking hours trying to save Dean, but tiring as in physically exhausting. Sam had started taking break-days on intervals, opening his eyes up to Heat of the Moment then closing them again seconds later, doing everything in his power to get some sleep in. He never actually slept, and the most restful downtime he ever got was an hour, during which Dean would go pick them up breakfast and have it waiting for Sam when Sam finally dared open his eyes. Then Dean would die. Again.

~*~*~*~*~

Sam went from laying down asleep to sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed in record time. Dean raised his eyebrows, turning his head to Sam and opening up his mouth to make some joke about Sam being eager this morning when he was suddenly being pushed back onto the bed. It was early morning and Dean hadn't even brushed his teeth yet, so his reflexes were still slow. (Although Sam was a slightly better wrestler than him anyways.)

"Sam? Wha-" Dean didn't even get out the first word of his question before Sam's mouth was on his. Dean made a surprised sound, his eyes still wide open as Sam knocked him flat on his back and crawled up over him from the side. Dean was automatically trying to push Sam off, cause damn, if Sam was in the mood for an early morning makeout session, fine, but at least give Dean some sort of explanation. Plus Sam tasted like sleep, which wasn't as awful as it should have been, but could definitely be better too.

Sam tilted his head and practically ravaged Dean's mouth, biting his lips and scraping his teeth over Dean's tongue. Dean's eyes had slid closed of their own will and his futile efforts to push at Sam's shoulders had kind of halted. It was just, Sam was kissing him and Dean's brain couldn't really function on a lot of other things right now. 

Sam's hands were on the sheet on either side of Dean's head, but his body was off to the side, leaning over Dean but carefully making sure they didn't touch in too many places, make this any more heated than it already was. Because once more of their bodies were touching than their hands and mouths...oh god. 

Dean finally got his hands in between them and shoved once at Sam's chest. It didn't push Sam back any, but it came across as a clear message. Sam broke his mouth away from Dean's, retreating back slightly to the center of the bed where he was. Dean scrambled up as quickly as he possibly could, backing away from Sam (before Dean did something really really stupid he was going to regret) and stammering out a few rushed words.

"Sammy, man, you gotta give me some sort of explanation befo-" Dean's left hand suddenly lost purchase on the bedsheets, nothing but air to support his weight. It all happened so fast, one moment he was nearing the edge of the bed as he backed away from Sam and the next he was falling, Sam's arms outstretched to catch him, a cry painted on Sam's lips. Dean felt the nightstand smack into his skull, the pain sharp and thudding. It was like getting hit with a ton of sharp bricks all at once. Then Dean felt his body hit the ground, everything slowly fading to black as he felt the last sensation of Sam wrapping his arms around his body. The last thing Dean thought was _Sam_ , then it was all just nothing.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Rise and Shine, Sammy!" Sam looked over at Dean, then suddenly tears were rolling down his face and he collapsed back down onto the bed. Dean was at his side in seconds. 

"Sam? Sam? Sam, what's wrong? Sam, talk to me, damnit!" Dean climbed to the other side of the bed, the direction Sam was curled to. Dean put his hand on Sam's back, since his face was hidden underneath the crook of his arms. Sam's body was shaking, violent, crying jerks that Dean could remember from the very worst times of Sam's childhood. Sam was normally a silent cryer for things, tears rolling down his face as he sniffled. Dean could name off every time he'd seen Sam like this on his fingers and still have fingers to spare. Something must have been seriously wrong for Sam to be bawling like this. 

Dean rubbed his hand up and down Sam's back, combing back Sam's hair from his face with his other hand. Sam's breathing eventually started to even out again, in glancing at the clock, at least seven minutes later. Dean just stayed the whole time, comforting Sam in what little ways he could when Sam wouldn't even look at him. Dean had asked him, pleaded, "just look at me, Sammy. I need to see if you're okay" and Sam had just started in with fresh tears at that. Dean had bit his lip and cursed up at the sky, for leaving him so hopeless to help his brother. 

After the seven minutes of the worst of it passed, the muscles in Sam's back shifted and Sam lifted his head up an inch or two from his arms. Dean held his breath, waiting to see if Sam would roll over and talk to him, or at least roll over and let Dean soothe him. Sam shifted a little, and rolled up onto his side, finally looking up at Dean with puffy red eyes and tear stained cheeks. There were pieces of Sam's hair wetted to his face, and Dean reached out careful fingers to peel them off and tuck the damp strands behind Sam's ears. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Dean kept his voice low, but Sam still shuddered like Dean was shouting. He shook his head no, breathing in a shaky breath and attempting at a smile up at Dean. Dean sighed and nodded, wishing he could press Sam for more information but knowing Sam needed space, or he wouldn't have asked for it.

Dean slid off the end of the bed and padded over to the bathroom, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. Sam wasn't the type to wash down nightmares with whiskey, so water it is. Sam watched Dean from the bed like he was afraid Dean might slip and fall any second. Dean was curious what kind of nightmare could do that, but he wasn't going to question it. Dean handed Sam the glass and he took it gratefully, downing back the water. Dean sat back down at the foot of the bed, after setting the empty water glass back in the bathroom. Sam was propped up on one elbow, still buried underneath the sheets, looking at Dean sadly. Dean looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to calm his racing heart. Whenever Sam got like this, Dean nearly lost it. He needed something to do, now. 

"You want some breakfast? I can call in tacos or something." Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight and shook his head.

"No." Sam sounded pained, like the idea of tacos was going to kill them both. "I just....can you come here?" 

Dean raised his eyebrows but obediently scooted up the bed. Sam laid back down on his side, and Dean quietly followed suit, pulling Sam's other pillow over and stuffing it under his head. They were a foot apart, laying down in a bed and looking at each other and Dean was feeling very self-conscious. If Sam wanted to talk, this was unlike any other talk-situation Dean had ever been weasled into. Dean had a feeling this might be about the ticking clock painted as a target on his chest, but Sam had woken up crying his eyes out so Dean was going to let him say whatever he needed to.

Words apparently weren't really in mind, though, because Sam reached out and took ahold of Dean's jacket, scooting them closer. Dean readjusted his shoulders and his head, now just five or six inches away from Sam's. He let go of Dean's jacket, one hand curling and tucking in against his body and the other reaching up to gently touch Dean's face. Dean blinked but remained still, letting the tips of Sam's fingers trace down his cheekbone and across his jaw.

Sam traced over Dean's entire face, sweeping over his forehead and down his nose, across his chin and pausing at the edges of Dean's eyes before ghosting over Dean's cheeks. Dean just kind of laid there in a mixture between awe and unsettled. He wasn't sure what Sam was doing, or why, but it was making his chest feel kind of warm. It was a really strange sensation. 

Finally Sam's fingertips brushed over Dean's lips, stopping with three resting on his bottom lip, making it roll out slightly. Dean's lips had been parted this whole time, just barely, but Sam's eyes were on them now and it was making Dean's heart pound even faster. Here he was, laying in bed with his tear-stained brother, letting him memorize his face with his fingertips. Hands down the most intimate thing Dean had let anyone do to him. He was helpless to move though, kind of just stuck in this disbelieving state. But his body was strumming with energy, with the urge to lean forward and kiss Sam, kiss his entire face. Memorize Sam right back, but with the drag of his lips across skin instead of fingers. 

That thought made it harder to breath, plus Sam's fingers and eyes were still on his lips. Dean's toes curled in his boots as he fought to keep still, to let Sam have this and not ruin it by leaning forward and closing their mouths together. Dean wasn't going to be able to hold it in much longer though, he couldn't stay like this and have Sam so close and not touch him. Not when a few months from now, Dean could never touch Sam again. 

His eyes squeezed shut at the idea of never touching Sam again. Dean normally didn't let Sam see his reactions like this, but he'd squinched up his face in pain before he remembered Sam was staring at him. As soon as his eyes shut, his lip slipped back into place and Sam's fingers disappeared. Dean breathed in and relaxed his face again, burying away the thoughts of _never again_ that were trapped inside of him. 

Dean was in the process of mustering up the willpower to open his eyes again when he felt something soft and slightly wet brush against his lips. Dean took a moment of stillness to recognize the feeling as Sam's lips, touched by his tears. Dean opened his mouth just a little more, pressing his mouth against Sam's. Sam kissed him back gently, and Dean was immensely grateful, the pain in his chest disappearing as Sam ran his hands over Dean's clothes, touching as much of Dean's upper body as Sam could reach. Dean wrapped Sam up in his arms, pulling his brother close in the way Sam hadn't let him earlier, when he'd been crying. 

They kissed and held each other for a while, the sounds of Asia long since faded to Foreigner, Journey, Def Leppard, and now Poison. The simple piano notes sung out from the strangely green radio on the bedside table, strangely fitting to the moment. Dean tightened his grip around Sam, trying to bring him in as close as he could. Dean would have been fine with never leaving this place, with staying here and melting into Sam until Dean didn't know where he stopped and his brother began. 

The piano notes slowed, leading up to the electric guitar's entrance that struck with a sort of intense serenity that made Dean shiver. Sam held Dean's bottom lip in his mouth for a moment, like he was somehow cradling Dean's mouth. The once soft and tentative gentle kiss had turned into this deep, honest declaration of some sort. Sam's hands had finally stopped their frantic need to touch every inch of Dean's torso he could, now clutching the back of Dean's jacket in rough fists. No matter what happened today or tomorrow, this was something that Dean could hold onto. This moment, how real this thing was with Sam.

 _And give me something to believe in_. 

The words on the stereo rang out in the silence, an ironic turn of fate that felt like maybe today would be the day everything would change. 

They eventually did break apart, Sam mumbling something about Dean needing air or he would choke to death. Dean had pressed his lips to Sam's one more time, laughing lightly at Sam's comment. Once they were up and Sam had washed his face, Dean suggested breakfast at the diner just down the block.

"It's within walking distance, Sam." Sam just looked at Dean and sighed. But he drudgingly followed Dean down to the diner. Dean bee-lined to an open booth, right in the middle, sitting down with a content smile, even though he was worried as hell about the defeated look on Sam's face. Dean didn't think he had magic kissing healing powers or anything, but he hadn't expected Sam to still be this bummed by the time they got here. 

Sam was silent during all of breakfast, not saying anything to Dean and just looking out the diner window. Dean finished his food while studying Sam, running over all the possibilities of what could have been so bad that Sam was _this_ bummed. As soon as Dean finished eating, he threw down a bill on the table and stood up, announcing he was going to the bathroom.

Sam turned his head quickly and looked at Dean, suddenly surprised.

"What?"

"Uh, I'm going to the bathroom."

"Why?"

"Because I have to pee, Sam?"

"But you don't...you never..." Dean raised his eyebrows and looked at Sam, who was fumbling with words and finally just shut his mouth, looking up at Dean.

"Okay then. I'll be back." Dean spun on his heel and started walking to the bathroom when suddenly Sam was at his side. Dean furrowed his eyebrows and looked over at his brother, who was wearing the strangest expression ever. "Uh. Sam. I don't need your supervision to pee, thank you."

Dean actually was only going to splash water on his face, clear his head, and give himself a few minutes of alone time to figure out what the hell was wrong with his brother. After Sammy woke up crying, Dean needed a second to wrap his head around what must had happened to the kid in the night. Which he couldn't do when Sam was following him around like a puppy dog.

"Dean, look, it's not safe, you-"

"Sam, I need three minutes, okay?" Dean stopped and faced Sam, trying not to look as irked as he was feeling. Sam had this look on his face like he was being asked to jump off a cliff. Could he really not leave Dean alone for _three minutes_? It was for Sam's own good anyways! 

"Okay, just. Be careful." Dean sighed and smacked open the bathroom door. What did Sam think he was, a four year old? He took two steps, slid on water, cracked his head open on the sink and died.


	56. Coagulated (Jus In Bello - 03x12)

It was Monday evening, and Dean was jotting down some notes in Dad's journal about the salt-and-burn they'd started on Friday and finally finished up this morning. They'd burned the bones of a twenty-something college girl who'd been haunting her roommates, but they hadn't been able to take her down until they found a half-used lipstick she was latching onto. The problem was, it was a bit more flammable than they'd been anticipating and they ended up lighting a few books on fire in the process. Dean was just making a note in the margin about the ingredient in the lipstick that was unexpectedly an accelerant. Just in case someone happened to have lipstick instead of gas with them. 

Dean finished the entry and looked up, his eyes landing on Sam, curled up on the couch. Dean shut the journal and looked at Sam worriedly. Sam had been paranoid since Wednesday, which based on what Sam told him on Tuesday about the time-loop, was understandable. Sam didn't let Dean go anywhere alone, which Dean was okay with. It got a little frustrating sometimes, and Dean had snapped at Sam once on Saturday, snarling something about Dean not bring incompetent, he could look after himself. Sam had shrunk back, a look on his face like a wild animal that's been cornered into a cage. Dean had instantly regretted it, apologizing like crazy to Sam and kissing the tip of his nose in an attempt to make him smile. Dean didn't bother Sam anymore about it after that.

It had been slowly weening off anyways, and by the time the books caught fire this morning, Sam didn't panic and push Dean out of the way. He'd called out Dean's name, scared, but Dean had shouted he was okay from where he was running for the nearest fire extinguisher. And Sam had been fine. And for the rest of the day today, Sam had started acting normal again. And leaving Dean to go places alone. Sam even went and picked up lunch for them, leaving Dean at the motel with no hint of a frown on his face. 

It was nearly eleven now, and the TV was flickering a soft glow over the room, the only other light the small table light Dean was jotting down the lipstick note under. The sound was quiet on the movie Sam was watching, but Dean was only watching Sam anyways. Sam had been great at dinner, good by eight, fine at nine, and he'd been rolling steadily downhill ever since. Dean could see him shivering from where he was curled up on the coach, or maybe he was trembling. Either way, it wasn't good. 

Dean shut off the table light, getting up out of his chair and making his way over to the couch. Sam lifted his head from the armrest as Dean came over, struggling into an upright position. He swung his legs off the couch to make room for Dean to sit. Dean sat close and rested his forearms on his legs, hands clasped together loosely in the gap between his knees and head turned to face Sam. 

"What's wrong, Sam?" Dean kept his voice quiet, searching Sam's profile for any signs of why he was getting worse all of a sudden. Sam didn't answer Dean, he just ducked his head and stared at his socked feet. Dean gave him a few more beats of silence before he swiveled his torso, lifting a hand to reach over and cup Sam's face, turning it towards him. Sam looked so young, not at all like was turning 24 in a couple of months. 

"Sam?" Dean asked again, his hand dropping back to his lap. Sam sighed and looked to the TV for a moment, not seeing it but needing to look away. Then he turned back to Dean and opened his mouth. Sam dropped his gaze before he spoke, looking at his hands instead of Dean.

"Tomorrow's Tuesday." Dean raised his eyebrows. 

"Yeah, then the next day after that is Wednesday. Why does it-" Dean suddenly realized. Tuesday. The whole time-loop thing, where Sam had to watch him die, that had been on a Tuesday. And the closer they got to midnight, to Tuesday, the more freaked Sam got. "Oh." 

A glint of water coagulated on Sam's bottom lashes. He breathed in, a few breaks in the way he drew in the oxygen. 

"I can't...i-if I lose you again, Dean-" Dean didn't need to hear another word, he leaned forward and gathered Sam up in his arms, pulling Sam's head onto his chest, one hand firm on the back of Sam's hair. Dean rubbed his hands up and down Sam's back as Sam clutched at Dean's tshirt with desperate fists, his body shaking with silent sobs. 

"Shhh, Sammy, it's gonna be alright." Dean leaned down and kissed the top of Sam's head, letting his lips linger in Sam's silky hair for a moment. Then Dean pulled back his head and squeezed Sam in a little tighter. "I'm not gonna leave you. How about we take the day off, stay right here all day? Just you and me. 'kay, Sammy?"

Dean leaned back his head and brought around a hand to Sam's face, tilting Sam's chin up so Dean could look him in the eyes. Sam's eyes were red and puffy already, but he still managed to be the most beautiful thing Dean had seen on this planet.

"Okay, Dean." Sam nodded against Dean's hand. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a breath. His next words came out a resigned whisper. "Thank you."

Dean leaned in and kissed the outside corners of each of Sam's eyes, his lips coming away wet and salty with tears. Then Dean reached behind Sam and grabbed the pillow off that side of the couch, throwing it behind him on his side so Dean had two pillows to prop up against the armrest. Then he leaned back, pulling Sam with him and up onto his body.

"C'mere," Dean coaxed softly, swinging his legs up on the coach and laying back against the two pillows, pulling Sam up to lay on his chest. Sam obliged and rested his ear over Dean's heart, one arm wedged between the back of the couch and Dean, the other resting lightly on Dean's upper pectoral muscle. There was a damp spot on Dean's dark green tshirt where Sam's tears had soaked it through, and Dean was glad he'd taken off his flannel, the tshirt would be much softer against Sam's head. Dean situated himself more comfortably, the two pillows keeping him just upright enough but still able to sleep. 

Dean tangled his legs up with Sam's, aware but unminding of the light bit of heat he felt from where his hips touched Sam. Dean wrapped one arm around Sam's back, crooking it up to rest his hand at the base of Sam's neck, his fingers playing with the tips of Sam's hair. The other hand splayed wide and possessive over the dip Sam's lower back, keeping him held closely to Dean. 

They fell asleep that way, both comfortable enough to end up sleeping until 9 the next morning. Then they ordered in pizza and ice cream, Sam answering the door just to be safe. Between each other and a horror movie marathon, there was more than enough to preoccupy them throughout the day. Sam practically held his breath once 11:50 hit, and they both lay wrapped up in each other in bed, watching the clock as the last few minutes clicked by. 

Even Dean held his breath too at 11:59, clutching Sam tightly as the second hand made its trip around the clock. The second the clock hit midnight, Dean let out a whoop that was cut off by Sam's mouth closing over his. Dean kissed Sam back wholeheartedly, never more happy for a Wednesday before. 

~*~*~*~

It was Thursday afternoon that they finally had a breakthrough on Bela's location, and they managed to get there in a couple of hours. After Dean managed not to get gunned down in a parking lot on Wednesday, too, Sam was feeling much better and actually in the mood to hunt the bitch down. They'd survived a Tuesday and a Wednesday without any casualties for the first time in like, a year. Well, for Sam anyways. Dean didn't remember any of it, which was good and bad.

The worst of it, Dean hadn't been alive for anyways. Sam still had nightmares about that (and he probably would for a long time), about how scary he'd became when Dean had died. Sam had terrified himself, the things that he could do, the way he lived? It was like Dean was an obsession that got yanked out from under him and he went through a permanent withdrawal that including slaughtering as many things as possible in one day. Every day. For six months.

But there was one day Sam could remember, Tuesday #116, when he'd woken up crying, totally having lost his shit and just being entirely done with this stupid time-loop and watching Dean die. Sam honestly thought he might die, just from the pain. And then Dean, totally oblivious to whatever was going on, had come over and tried to soothe him. Then Sam had managed to convince Dean to lie down with him. And Sam had traced over his features, his fingertips featherlight on Dean's skin, memorizing every curve, every precious freckle with his fingers. That day, something had clicked inside of Sam, and he was pretty sure Dean felt it too. Things felt different, different than every other Tuesday. Actually, different than every other day. 

And then Dean had died. And things went back to normal. Sam had been more upset the next day than he had ever been before. The next day was the day he'd discovered the syrup, though. The cheery syrup that should have been maple. Now that Sam thought back on it, the Tuesday where everything had changed with Dean was the last Tuesday Dean had died. Maybe the Trickster had been caught off guard by the sudden change in Dean and Sam's relationship, maybe he'd been as surprised as Sam. Maybe that's why he slipped up and forgot about the syrup needing to be maple. 

Because seriously, every day for 100+ Tuesdays the guy is immaculate, then he just slips up one day? On something so obvious, too. Well, obvious to Sam anyways. But Dean hadn't died on a Tuesday after that, because the cheery-syrup-day, the Trickster just re-woke up Sam. Maybe hoping he'd forget. Sam didn't forget though, and the next day was the one he'd cornered the Trickster and forced him to stop the time-loop. And then Dean had died on Wednesday. 

But Dean didn't remember any of it. Not the parts that mattered. Dean didn't remember that kiss, right after Sam had been tracing Dean's freckles and the slope of his nose. Dean didn't remember the pull, how the little gravitational pull between them had suddenly become consuming, how they just seemed to magnetize to each other after that, even more than normal. Dean didn't know. And it was gone now. And Sam couldn't...he couldn't bring himself to touch Dean like that again. Not when there was the risk of losing it. Sam could survive one blow that hard, but he'd never make it out alive twice.

When they busted down Bela's door to her room, Sam had a lot of other things on his mind besides the time-loop, though. Like how the cops suddenly showed up, Henriksen peering down at them. It wasn't until Sam saw Dean in handcuffs that he started worrying a little again. Sam was _not_ going to have Dean separated from him goddammit- 

Then they shackles Sam's feet to Dean's and Sam felt considerably better. This way if Dean slipped and fell on something, instead of busting his head open like he had probably at least 40 times, Sam could catch him. If being shackled to Dean was supposed to be a punishment, these cops clearly didn't know Sam very well.

The chains connecting their ankles gave them about two feet of room to move, they'd tested that the second they got thrown into the cell, Dean automatically scooping out one side and Sam automatically the other. They'd agreed to sit down, and the bench was actually kind of long. There was plenty of room for them to sit like normal people, but both of them just huddled up next to each other, touching all the way from their shoulders down their hips, thighs, and knees. 

Dean was pissed and tensed, but Sam was pretty sure this was not a good time or place for a backrub. When they got out of here though, it was the first thing they were doing, no matter how much Dean protested. _If_ they got out of here. Dean couldn't fight when he had knots in his back. Well, he could, but not nearly as efficiently as he could without them.

When Henriksen walked up, Dean lifted his head and fitted the man with a glare. Sam would not want to be on the other side of that glare, but Henriksen seemed unfazed.

"You know what I’m trying to decide?" Sam leaned back against the wall, glancing at Henriksen before turning his gaze away. Sam's knee was still pressed up against Dean's, but he didn't have the patience Dean did with sitting up.

"I don’t know. What? Whether Cialis will help you with your little condition?" Sam might have huffed a laugh if he wasn't pissed to hell and annoyed.

"What to have for dinner tonight." Sam looked over at him. "Steak or lobster, what the hell, surf and turf. I got a lot to celebrate. I mean, after all, seeing you two in chains…"

"You kinky son of a bitch. We don’t swing that way." Sam noticed the uncomfortable shift in Dean's tone. He looked at Dean, just the very corner of his mouth twitching up. It was the one time when Dean's joke was actually a joke. And slightly amusing. Dean wasn't ever funny, ever, but Sam couldn't help the inner smirk at Dean's comment. Right, like they hadn't fallen asleep wrapped up around each other last night. Although Sam actually _didn't_ swing that way, just for Dean. Dean on the other hand...

"Now, that’s funny." Sam wasn't sure if Henriksen was being sarcastic about the kinky thing or if he was being a smartass and saying it was obvious they were gay. They only got called gay at 4 out of 5 motel checkins, and that included when only one of them was checking in and the other was standing outside. 

"You know, I wouldn’t bust out the melted butter just yet. Couldn’t catch us at the bank, couldn’t keep us in that jail." Sam wasn't surprised Dean was quick to change the subject, he never had been one for talking about that stuff. But especially now that he and Sam were on a kissing-on-a-daily-basis status, Dean shied away from it like a wild deer shied away from a human hand. Aka running full sprint in the other direction. 

"You’re right. Screwed up. I underestimated you. I didn’t count on you being that smart but now I’m ready." Yeah, well, no one counted on Dean being that smart and then he always was. Sometimes, Dean was way smarter than Sam was. Dean knew more lore than Sam did. Sam was better at stuff like logistical proofs and Latin memorization, but no one ever gave Dean enough credit for his brain.

"Yeah, ready to lose us again?"

"Ready like a court order to keep you in a Supermaximum prison in Nevada till trial. Ready like isolation in a soundproof, windowless cell, so that between you and me… probably unconstitutional. How’s that for ready?"

Sam looked over at Dean, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. God, if they didn't get out of here. Dean ran his hand over his mouth, the worry seeping through his masks. They were both silent, then Henriken finally spoke up again.

"Take a good look at Sam – you two will never see each other again."

Sam turned wide-eyed to Henriksen now. Dean turned his head too, slow and deadly. For a moment, Sam was glad for the bars between them and the agent. Sam could feel the tension in Dean's body, could practically see the death glare. If those bars hadn't had been there, Henriksen would be on the floor with a snapped neck right now. And then they'd be wanted for manslaughter and Dean would break down a month from now and cry himself to sleep.

"Aw. Where’s that smug smile, Dean? I want to see it." Dean turned his head back forwards, his foot wrapping possessively around Sam's ankle. The sudden warmth and solidarity of his brother, there and protecting him and safe, hit Sam with an overwhelming crash. Just the simple act of entangling their feet, making Sam clearly claimed as Dean's, was enough to make Sam want to break down and cry from all the stress and the stupid jail and if they didn't get out of here this could be the last place he gets to kiss Dean...Sam had to suck in a breath at that thought. He carefully kept his face composed, not wanting Henriksen to notice Dean's foot around his ankle or the affect it was having on Sam. Dean went smooth enough with his motions that Henriksen probably wouldn't notice, but if he did and commented on it...Henriksen would be on the floor with a snapped neck, bars or not.

"You got the wrong guys." Dean shook his head and looked down, suddenly turning lighter and pleading. Sam knew this was Dean's last shot, trying to talk their way out of here. That would be a dream, but basically impossible.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You fight monsters. Sorry, Dean. Truth is, your daddy brainwashed you with all that devil talk and no doubt touched you in a bad place." Sam sat up, turning his head towards Henriksen slowly and observing just how far away he was, how much time he'd need to make it to the bars to grab his throat. With Dean on that side of Sam and shackles on his feet, too much time. No one got to say that to Dean though, no one got to insult Dean like that. Hell, no one got to insult John like that.

"That’s all. That’s reality." Dean leaned over the same degree Sam did, both of them matching Henriksen with their glares. If it was worth it, they might be able to sync to each other and motion to go in for the kill. If they went in unison, it'd be over in seconds and at least one of them would make it out alive. But Sam knew Henriksen would pull a gun on Dean before he gunned down Sam, so it wasn't worth the risk.

"Why don’t you shut your mouth?" Or Sam was going to kick it shut. And break your jaw.

"Well, guess what. Life sucks. Get a helmet. ‘Cause everybody’s got a sob story. But not everybody becomes a killer." The sound of a helicopter approaching rang through in the silence. Sam looked up towards the window, seeing if it would fly by so he could get the make and model, figure out if he knew it well enough to fly it. It didn't fly by in Sam's sight.

"And now I have two less to worry about." Henriksen looked at his watch and smiled. "Mm. It’s surf and turf time."

Henrisen turned to leave and Sam glared. Dean made a face, then shook his head. Sam stared straight ahead as Dean put his head in his hands. As soon as the door shut behind Henriksen, Sam rubbed his hands up and down Dean's back. Dean shuddered and looked up.

"Sam." Sam kept rubbing, releasing just a little bit of the tension. 

"We're getting out of here, Dean. I don't like the way he looks at you." Sam kept his words short and angry, but Dean turned to him with a little smile and raised eyebrows.

"Someone gettin jealous?" Sam just furrowed his eyebrows and kept set in on digging his thumbs into Dean's shoulders. That wiped the grin off of Dean's face, and his head dropped down, a quiet moan escaping his mouth. Sam dug in harder, each word followed by a rough twist and push of his thumbs.

"No. He just looks at you like you're a killer." There was a pause where Dean's shoulders tensed up a little. Sam dug into them harder, eliciting a quiet _ouch_ from Dean before he started to relax again. "You're not." 

"Yeah, well, I might be if he keeps up with the wisecracks and the threats to-." Dean cut off his words, his mouth shutting like if he trapped the words inside then they wouldn't be real anymore. Sam swallowed and nodded. To separate them. Yeah, Sam might become a killer too.


	57. Addled (Ghostfacers - 03x13)

Dean was fine until the flashlight. He'd called out Sam's name calmly twice, then the pale light caught his eye. Dean reached down and scooped it up, Sam's flashlight. It was cold in Dean's hands, like a bucket of ice water to the face. He stared at it for a moment, not wanting to believe what this meant. Then time was ticking and it all sunk in. Sam was gone.

"Saamm!" Dean yelled. There was no echoed back reply of Sam's punched shout _Dean!_

If Dean kind of lost it then, he was entirely validated. He went into panic mode - everything suddenly cold and empty and Sam was gone, his Sammy had been taken, and why the hell had Dean let Sam leave his side for a second? In a place like this, he should've practically held Sam's damn hand to keep him safe. 

" _Sammy!!_ " Looking back and watching the tape, Dean cringed a little next to Sam. Sam shot him a glance, a little concern and a little happiness in his eyes. Like he was concerned Dean would do something stupid because he was having an anxiety attack about Sam being gone, but he was also kind of honoured that Dean cared so much. Of course Dean cared so much. Dean shot Sam back a guilty look before clearing his throat and turning his head back to the computer screen. It was strange to watch himself, bewildered and terrified look on his face, running around the house and screaming "Sam!" or "Sammy!" every couple of seconds.

It wasn't even like they were normal calls, Dean's voice sounded hysterical. He totally entirely looked like he was losing it. It wasn't like this _every_ time Sam got out of his sight, but. Pretty close. Once Sam didn't respond to the first couple of calls, Dean's lungs forgot how to pull in oxygen. Suddenly breathing was taking a backburner to finding Sam, and his body only managed to suck in the occasional quick gasp, enough to keep him conscious. His heart was thudding out of his chest and his vision was blurry at the edges. Dean's body was cold all over and he actually would be shivering if he was standing still. As it was, he was running back and forth across the house, each glimpse the camera caught of him looked more like a cornered wild animal than a man searching for his brother.

Dean remembered exactly what that felt like though, it was still fresh enough in his mind that watching it made him cringe. Then he'd ended up having to separate the two morons running this thing, and he'd succeeded in yelling at everyone and making them cower in terror. Even watching back on the tape, it was obvious how nonfunctional Dean was when Sam was gone. A light blush was starting to creep up his neck, watching this next to Sam was getting kind of strange. Watching Sam see him like this...it was kind of like an invasion of personal privacy. 

Before, Sam had only been part of the reunions, the relieved gasp "Sam," and the running to him, scooping him up in Dean's arms. Now, Sam got to see Dean run around like a chicken with its head cut off for ten minutes, then finally start working the case again, with lightning fast speed and a deadly efficiency. And a lot of anger. The amateur camera landed on Dean's back and moved around to his profile, showing his hands searching through the papers madly.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Harry said it, approaching Dean from the side. Dean didn't look up, his response fast and still panicked.

"Okay, so Daggett was a cold war nut, okay? He was -- he was an amateur taxidermist. He liked to slow dance with cadavers, and all he ate were c-rations." Then Dean slammed down the object he was holding, looking up pissed and angry and terrified. "So what the hell are we looking for?!"

Sam shifted in his seat next to Dean, his eyes flicking over from the video to his brother. The blush on Dean's cheeks deepened and his dipped his head down. Sam's hand suddenly found his leg, his hand halfway up Dean's thigh and squeezing gently. Well that certainly wasn't going to do much for Dean's blushing. His heart started pounding again, a different sort of rush than before. Dean shot Sam a side glance, but his eyes were fixed on the screen. 

The hand on the leg thing was vaguely comforting, but a lot more arousing than calming. Sam had never done this before, touched Dean's thighs, let alone wrap his hand over the top of one and squeeze. Dean had to control his breathing. Dean almost brushed Sam's hand off, the Ghostfacer team was _right there_ , but as he placed his hand over Sam's to move it, he realized that absolutely no one could see this from the angle they were standing at. Sam and Dean were too close together for them to see anything under the computer desk or in between them. 

So they continued watching the film, Dean's hand accidentally covering Sam's now, but that totally wasn't his fault. And it also wasn't his fault if he thumb ran across the back of Sam's hand, tracing the skin he had seen his whole life and not felt much time touching at all. Dean focused back in on the screen, just in time to watch himself push the bookshelf out of the way of the door.

The camera guy made some stupid comment like "wow, you're strong." Dean had given him the bird. That was strangely satisfying to watch, even if they did obscure Dean's hand in the editted tape. Then oncamera Dean busted in the door, screaming out Sam's name again. It was weird to see this all at another angle, instead of just from his eyes. He could remember how each scene had looked from Dean's point of view, and with the added camera angles too, it was like seeing the same event from two different screens and viewpoints. Basically it was really weird.

Dean remembered what that had been like, the door finally giving way and some bigass spirit standing by a table. Dean had quickly loaded rock salt into his chest, then he'd practically ran to Sam's side. The first thing Dean did was do a quick visual check for the obvious injuries, then he started in on Sam's boundings. The video didn't show the relieved smile and breathed out _Dean_ from Sam. It didn't show how, as soon as Sam was free from his ropes again and could move, the first thing Dean did was pull him upright, pressing fingers to the side of Sam's neck, checking for a pulse. Then he was cupping Sam's face in his hands, getting a good look at him.

"You okay? Sammy?" Then Sam's hands were over his, tugging off gently and nodding his head. Dean had really wanted to kiss Sam then, seal his lips over his brother's and melt into his body. Never let him out of Dean's sight again. But Dean was definitely not one for PDA, he never had been, and with Sam it felt even stranger. Like, there was always the chance someone knew they were brothers. And it also meant they were both vulnerable, lost in each other and in danger to be grabbed any second, or killed, or whatever the hell else a ghost would do. Like apparently throw birthday parties. Not to mention, there were about 10 cameras around, and as hot as it would be to see a video of him kissing the fuck out of Sam, Dean was really not kosher with it being on tape for all these other sick bastards to see.

The next thing the video showed was the ridiculously cheesy thing about the "gay love having to save the day". Dean wondered if that was some kind of parallel message from the great heavens above that the only way he could be saved from his deal was by gay love. Dean snorted out loud at the thought and all of the ghostfacers fixed him with a glare. Okay, so kind of an inappropriate time to laugh. Although Dean probably would have laughed at this anyways. Like seriously, awkward. 

Then came the killing of the bastard ghost who took Dean's brother and was absolutely going to pay. And of course they both got their asses kicked in the process, because that was like, standard. It was a trip to see himself on the ground, up against some sort of furniture and groaning slightly at the pain in his head. The camera guy's flashlight had been on Dean's face, then slid over to see Sam, in about the same state Dean was. 

"Are you okay?" The guy said, but Dean and Sam both ignored him, struggling to their feet and stumbling over to each other. Dean got up before Sam, walking over and scanning up and down his body with a flashlight. Then Sam stepped in close, removing all the space between them but inches.

"Oh god," Sam started saying, reaching for Dean. Dean suddenly felt eyes on the back of his head and he turned around, seeing the camera pointed directly their way. Dean and Sam both looked at it for a second before Dean's hand came up and covered the lens. They had been filmed separately and together all day, shots of Dean and Sam looking at each other, even talking about Dean's deal a bit. And not once had Dean or Sam tried to cover up the camera. Because they really didn't care.

That is, until Dean was about to kiss Sam and the camera was staring them down. So for the first time (although he'd wanted to a hundred times) that evening, Dean reached over and smacked the camera down. No one got to see him kiss his brother. It was suspicious as hell, only knocking it down when he and Sam were close and reaching for each other. But whatever, it wasn't like anyone would see this video anyways.

"Um, no. Go get your kicks somewhere else, perv." The camera man had grumbled something and packed up, walking out of the room and finally leaving Dean and Sam alone. Dean had waited approximately 0 seconds before he grabbed Sam's ribs and pulled him into Dean's body, his mouth finding Sam's. Sam brought a hand up to the back of Dean's head, twisting his mouth down into the kiss.

They had been under some serious sexual frustration all night, ever since they weren't alone anymore and they kept on getting filmed any time they even tried talking to each other. So finally relieving some of that tension felt amazing, and the itch in Dean's spine finally went away. He worked his lips up against Sam's mouth, pressing and sliding against each other. Dean's eyes were shut tightly, kissing Sam like the way he'd needed to since the moment he picked up that flashlight.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's back, hooking them upwards and forcing Sam in tighter against his body. Sam kissed him back just as needily, the kiss turning a little sloppy and wet and desperate. Warmth had started gathering in his chest, which slowly made its way down to his stomach. Which meant...oh shit oh shit oh shit. Dean felt his pants tighten, his dick suddenly taking a very obvious interest in the things Sam was doing to his mouth. And with his hips pressed tight up against Sam's, that must mean Sam could feel...

Dean unraveled his arms from Sam and snapped his head back, pushing away from his brother as fast as possible. Sam looked a little surprised at first, his eyes blinking open and his arms falling down quickly to his sides. Sam's first reaction was to look towards the doorway, to see if some peep with a camera had come in. Seeing the doorway and the rest of the room empty, Sam turned over to face Dean. Dean had taken the few seconds to wipe the panic off of his face, and his erection had gone down a little, making it vaguely possible Sam wouldn't notice. 

Sam, with his swollen-red lips and addled expression, reaching out for Dean with a hand and calling his name softly, asking him what was wrong. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and looked down at his feet. This was all just a lot, and now his goddamned brother was making him hard. Dean knew they kissed and everything, but that was just a sort of comfort thing, right? Not really a sexual thing. Dean wasn't letting it become a sexual thing. There was no way. 

It was just because Dean was dying and Sam felt sorry for him, was taking what parts of Dean he could have before Dean was gone entirely. Right? That was what Dean kept telling himself, because it was the only logical reason he could come up with for Sam wanting to kiss him. Dean, obviously, had had feelings that were far more than brotherly for a long time. Which made this whole kissing thing the single worst and best event of Dean's short life. It was a shame it only happened at the end of it.

"We should go," Dean huffed. Sam had looked at him curiously, then nodded his head.

"Yeah, okay. Let's get out of here." Then they were walking back through the house, shoulder to shoulder and touching down the entire length of their arms. 

The video was finally over, the speech about big gay love saving the day being a closer Dean did his best not to laugh at. Surprisingly, he managed to keep the snort in. Even though Sam's eye shared the same amused twinkle when they glanced over at each other. 

As soon as they were outside though, away from the annoying amateurs, Dean let out a laugh he felt like he'd been holding in forever. Sam looked over at him and echoed his laugh with a smile. Then they both piled in the car, grinning at each other.

"It's too bad. I kinda liked the show." Sam nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"It had its moments." Like the moments when Dean got to flick off a camera, or knock one out of the guy's hands who tried to film Dean and Sam's kiss and check-for-injuries. Those were good moments.

Then Dean revved up the engine, pulling out into the street and taking off. He had less than thirty days left, but at least the rest of this one he got to spend in his favourite place in the world: driving with Sammy in shotgun. No TV show could ever capture how great that was.


	58. Petulant (Long Distance Call - 03x14)

Sam spotted Dean instantly, sitting on a bench across the city square. Sam started walking towards him, taking the moments of Dean's forced silence, due to a phone at his ear, to appreciate his brother without getting ridiculed for it. Dean had picked up a habit of "stop staring Sammy" within the last couple of weeks and it was getting annoying. Because seriously, Sam did not exactly have a lot of time left to look at Dean. 

The same distance that Sam could hear Dean from was the same distance his freckles started coming into focus. Except in winter, then Dean's freckles all but vanished. Sam couldn't help but think of one of those Tuesdays when he saw them, the day he kissed each one with his fingertips, and Dean had let him. Dean didn't remember it though, just like he didn't remember how it had changed everything. So, really, it hadn't changed anything at all. Besides the idea in Sam's head that it could _never_ be like that between them. Sam knew now it could. It just...wasn't. Because Dean was a stubborn bastard who refused to talk about his feelings or this thing between them. Or why it was happening. Or what it meant to Dean. Or any of the ten thousand other secrets Dean was keeping him regarding why the fuck...everything basically. 

"Yep. I got it. Okay, bye." Dean hung up the phone and picked up a soda, tossing it to Sam. Sam grabbed it as Dean shoved the last of whatever food he'd gotten this time into his pretty mouth. Sam had to make a point not to look at that mouth. 

"So?" Dean asked, still chewing. Sam made a face but continued on anyways.

"So, the professor doesn't know crap."

"Shocking." Dean brushed passed him, tapping him on the shoulder with the back of his hand as he did. " Pack your panties, Sammy, we're hitting the road."

"What? What's up?" Sam asked to Dean's retreating back, who spun around and kept chewing and talking.

"That was Bobby. Some banker guy blew his head off in Ohio and he thinks there's a spirit involved."

"So you two were talking a case?" Dean took a few slow steps forward, closing the distance between them tantalizingly but unfortunately showing no interest in doing anything besides just standing close to Sam.

"No, we were actually talking about our feelings. And then our favourite boy bands. Yeah, we were talking a case!" Sam just turned his head and ignored Dean's sass. He'd been super moody lately, which was a little understandable, but no less annoying.

"So a spirit, what?"

"Yeah, the banker was talking about some sort of electrical problems at his pad for like a week. Phone was going haywire, computer was flipping on and off." Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded, asking Sam what he thought. Sam just looked down at his hands. Yeah, it sounded like a spirit, but really? They were kind of on a time limit here and in the middle of something. So Sam just muttered out a sound.

"Huh..." Dean stepped in a little closer, peering at Sam's face until he lifted his head.

"This not ringing your bell?" Their faces were close and Dean just stood stagnant, his nearly-pissed expression on. Sam was gentle with his words though, especially since Dean had been PMSing like hell for the past little bit. 

"Well, sure, yeah. But, Dean, we're already on a case." Dean's eyes cut to the side then he looked back at Sam, genuinely surprised.

"Whose?" 

"Yours." Dean ducked his head down, raising his eyebrows up. His voice was a mix between annoyed and angry. Which meant he was even more scared about this thing than Sam thought. Or maybe it was something else bothering him. Or maybe both.

"Right. Yeah. Well, you coulda fooled me." Dean retreated with his last words, turning and walking away from Sam with his head down. God, Dean was acting like this petulant child.

"What the hell else have we been doing lately other than trying to break your deal?" Sam threw up his hands, and Dean turned around again. This was turning into a stupid game of cat and mouse, Dean walking away and walking back and sassing Sam every three seconds in between.

"Chasing our tails, that's what." Dean stepped forward again, all the way until he was a few inches away from Sam's chest. Sam could lean down and kiss him, but they were in the middle of a very populated area and that would probably end with a punch in the gut to Sam. "Sam, we've talked to every professor, witch, soothsayer and two bit carny act in the lower 48. Nobody knows squat! And we can't find Bela, we can't find the Colt. So until we actually find something, I'd like to do my job." 

"Well there's one thing we haven't tried yet..." Dean said no before Sam even got his entire sentence out.

"Sam, no."

"We should summon Ruby." Dean shook his head, his pissed level rising up three notches into the silent-arguing notch which was much more dangerous than the sarcastic-ass notch. 

"I'm not gunna have this fight with you." Dean didn't get to do that, he didn't get to just _walk away_. Sam wasn't going to let his brother die and he'd do anything it took to stop it. Anything.

"She said she knows how to save you." Sam had raised his voice a little by now, and he realized for a moment they might look kind of ridiculous, the two of them standing a couple of inches apart and yelling at each other like they hated each other. More like it was the opposite. Well, for Sam. So more like Sam just loved Dean too much.

"Well, she can't." Sam didn't have to put up with Dean's cynical ass.

"Oh really, you know that for sure?"

"I do."

"How?"

"Because she told me, okay!" The constant banter froze, the rapid fire answers suddenly filling with silence instead. Sam stared at Dean, not quite believing what he'd said. That had been the plan though, to machine-gun fire questions on Dean until he got so annoyed he just blurted out the truth. It was a risky task, because half the time it ended in Dean screaming profanities and slamming the motel room door. Or worse, falling silent and glaring at Sam before locking himself in the bathroom. That lucky third time though, Dean would break and just shout out the truth, just to shut Sam up. 

"What?" It was more for confirmation than the fact that he didn't believe what Dean was saying. When the rapidfire annoyances worked, they worked.

"She told me. Flat out. She can't save me, nobody can." His voice was calm now, the eye of the storm. Dean was looking up at Sam, his eyes flicked upwards and his body weight shifting constantly like he needed to move, to do something besides just stand here. Dean was breathing a little heavy like he'd just been in a fight. Sam nodded and clenched his teeth. Of course, Sam had been running around like a chicken with its head cut off to save Dean, find out what Ruby knew, and all this time Dean was just letting Sam waste time. Letting himself waste away.

"And you just somehow neglected to mention this to me?" Sam twitched up the side of his nose, attempting to keep a handle on the emanate tears. Or the emanate punch to Dean's face. Or maul of his mouth. 

"Well, I really don't care what that bitch thinks and neither should you, so..." Dean turned again, ending the conversation (again) but Sam wasn't done. This wasn't over. He was going to find out right now why Dean was so pissy and he might as well do it when Dean already wanted his head on a plate. It wasn't like it could get a lot worse.

"So what, now you're keeping secrets from me, Dean?" Sam stood stock still and said it with deadly accuracy, Dean spinning around and glaring instantly.

"You really wanna talk about who's keeping secrets from who?" Dean stared at Sam, challenging him with eyes that were practically forcing Sam to shut up now. It was his warning glare, the _shit is about to go down and you will not make it out alive if you start it right now._ Yeah, well, Sam had been going for that for the past year and he didn't have enough time left anymore to deal with Dean's shit. Sam sucked in a breath, staring him back down and leveling his shoulders.

"Are you even talking about Ruby, Dean? Or is this about something more?" Dean walked back up to Sam, not standing as close as he had been before. He was at punching distance now, fighting distance. Instead of the kissable distance that he kept standing at and not utilizing. 

"You don't know what you're talking about, Sam." His voice was a mix between deadly low and playful teasing, making him sound like some demonic child's toy, or a little girl who could snap your neck with her Barbie doll. There was absolutely nothing playful in the glare that promised death fixed on Sam's eyes. Sam wasn't going to get thrown off though, just because Dean sounded creepy as hell and looked like he was an explosive about to nuke the nearest twenty-mile radius. 

Sam leaned in closer to Dean, his voice just as playful mocking for the first words. Then he straightened back up, the rest of his sentence demanding and strong.

"Actually, I do. It _is_ me on the other side of those kisses, Dean." Dean froze for three seconds, staring at Sam with narrowed eyes. Then he took a step backwards, snapping out of his shock and shouting at Sam, hands clenched in fists at his sides.

"Sam, we are **not** talking about this." Dean glared at Sam, more venom in his eyes than Sam thought was possible. There was even a smidgen of hate there, like some part of Dean hated Sam. Sam just glared back, matching the venom but knowing he'd never match the look of hate. Sam never could. He'd loved Dean every waking moment of his life. Yeah, it had been idolistic and brotherly at first, for the first 23 years of Sam's life. Or 22. Things started changing once Dean showed up on his doorstep, well, his living room. Sam knew that know.

But if Dean hated him, fine. Sam glared for another moment or two before he spun on his heel and began walking away.

"Now where you going?" His words were accusatory more than concerned, like he was pissed Sam had the nerve to walk away. Sam just turned around and kept walking backwards, throwing his hands up with a sarcastic smirk on his face. Dean ruined everything.

"Guess I'm going to Ohio."

~*~*~*~*~

Sam fell asleep, sprawled out on the bed like he didn't want Dean to join him. Which was fine with Dean because it wasn't like he was going to let Sam cuddle him right now anyways. Dean sat at the motel table, facing away from Sam's gently peaceful face. He was holding a large take away coffee cup in his hand, his phone beside him on the table. Dean hated waiting. But he sat regardless, staring off into space. Thinking about things. Which meant thinking about Sam.

Sam had cornered Dean this morning, shouting and insisting Dean explain himself to Sam. Dean shook his head, just by thinking back on it. Sam didn't _get it_. Dean had been dealing with his twisted, messed up feelings for...running on 6 years now. And Sam was just confused and hurting and using Dean, and Dean had to help Sam out of his pain. Right? That was his job, take care of Sammy, even if it meant letting Sam use him like that. Dean had no obligation to explain any of that to Sam, especially the cravings he had for him, had had for him for a long time. Dean stared off into space. He hated fighting with Sam when they were so close to losing each other forever, but that was just the nature of the beast.

The phone rang, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. The display screen lit up, the letters and numbers SHA33 lighting up the screen. Dean snatched up the phone and answered it, darting into the bathroom so as to not wake up sleeping Sam.

"Dad?" Dean whispered.

"Dean." Dean turned around and glanced over Sam one more time, making sure he was okay and still getting some rest (even when Dean was stuck between being annoyed at Sam and running to him for help, he still had to check on him. It was in Dean's blood). Then he shut the door, speaking into the phone again.

"Is it really you?"

"It's me." The voice sounded like Dad, but Sam had been so doubtful. Dean had to check.

"How can I be sure?"

"You can't." That was exactly something Dad would say. Dean felt a bubble of hope rise up in his chest. It was stomped on seconds later, crushed into a thousand pieces with his dad's next shattering words. "Dean, how could you do it?"

"What?" They were both speaking fairly quietly, but Dean still could hear the disappointment laden in his father's voice as he asked the question. He'd fucked up again, somehow, and John knew about it.

"Sell your soul." Dean looked at the bathroom door, imagining past it and seeing the peaceful, perfect face, sprawled out over the bed and tangled up in the sheets, falling and rising with each breath he took. That was what Dean had to do, he couldn't rob the earth of the most precious thing it had. He had to protect Sam, at any cost. Dad was the one who taught him that. 

"I was looking after Sam, like you told me to." Dean knew his voice sounded concerned, like he was searching for approval. For the "its alright, son. I understand." It didn't come. No, what came next hit Dean like standing on train tracks.

"Is that what you tell yourself every time you steal away what isn't yours?" Dean's mouth went dry. Dad wasn't talking about...he couldn't know about... "Every time you commit that...that _sin_?"

Dean sucked in a breath, a tear escaping his eye before he could even attempt to get a grip on himself. Dean wiped at his face furiously with one hand and gripped the wall tightly with the other. Anything to stop him from falling to his knees in grief, just from the sheer hate in his father's voice. The disgust. The way he said "sin," growling over the line like Dean was worst than the monsters they both hunted so ferociously. Dean breathed in shakily, trying to get his words out without crying. He was not going to cry, John had been after him about giving Sam more space for years. What had Dean been expecting? But maybe if he got Dad to understand...that this wasn't about Dean, this was for _Sam_

"He needed me, I had to be there for him." Dean knew he was pleading into the phone, pleading and trying to get Dad to understand. His next words ended up watery, because the tears had started forming in his eyes again. "Whatever it takes. You told me that." Dean's voice dropped off to a desperate whisper, a near-silent pleading repeat. "You told me that."

"I never wanted this. Never. And you can't pretend Dean, that this wasn't selfish. You can't say you did this for Sam when you just knew you were dying, and took advantage of his sorrow. You're leaving him behind, Dean. If you were doing this for Sam, you would've done the opposite." 

Dean's heart was shattering, the truth of his father's words sinking in. God, how could Dean be so blind? How could he just take away from Sam what he didn't deserve, just because it was his only true dying wish? And he'd convinced himself, he'd _convinced_ himself he was doing it for Sam. The tears were rolling freely now, puddling on the floor as Dean leaned his back against the wall and dipped his head, the only undefeated part of him being the hand holding the phone to his ear. Part of him wanted to take the phone and smash it against the wall, scream he was sorry, and just fall to his knees in the puddle of his own tears and drown. 

Dean was kissing Sam, making Sam believe whatever he thought was happening between them that wasn't. And he'd leave Sam behind with the mess of him to clean up.

"You should've sent him back to college the moment you sold your soul. Why do you think I kicked him out Dean? Because he wanted to play soccer? He was a _distraction_ , you were falling for him and I couldn't let it ruin you. I couldn't let it ruin him. You're my boys, I love you. I can't watch you destroy your brother and to go to hell, Dean."

Dean had sunk to the floor at the words _why do you think I kicked him out?_ His head was spinning and he clutched a hand in his hair, drawing his knees in to his chest and resting his forehead on them. Silent sobs racked his body as his dad went on, spitting out the word "distraction" like Sam was the antichrist. Dean's heart just started chanting _no, no, no._ It couldn't be, it couldn't be true. Dad wouldn't have...how could he separate them like that? His entire life he'd been trying to keep them together, and Dean had fucked it up so miserably John kicked Sam out. It was all his fault, all of it. Jess, Sammy getting stuck in this rut, Dad dying. Everything. 

_I couldn't let it ruin you._ It was too late, it had always been too late. Dean was going to hell for it now, and it was only just what he deserved. He'd ruined everything, he deserved it. _I couldn't let it ruin him_. It was the unspoken, silent agreement between them. Sam was more important than Dean, Sammy came first. For everything. Dean was the brother who jumped in front of the bullet, always protecting Sam. Preventing his ruin was much more important that preventing Dean's. _I can't watch you destroy your brother_. One of Dean's silent sobs got some volume, and he clamped a hand over his mouth, his body shaking. Tears were everywhere and Dean's throat was so scratchy he could barely breathe. He sucked in as much oxygen as he could, slamming his head back against the wall in a hope that pain might jump him out of the ripping shreds of his heart.

It didn't, and his head just started to throb along with everything else in his body. Dean cried, his eyes shut and head still tilted back against the wall, the arm that had been wrapped around his knees now in a fist in his lap, fingernails digging red marks into his palm.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Dean was a murmuring mess, pleading into the phone as his tears seeped down it. His voice dropped into a whisper again, shaking with every word and making it hard to talk. "I don't know how to stop it."

Dad was silent for a moment on the other end of the line, and Dean thought that maybe for a second even he had given up on Dean. It wasn't like he hadn't before. Then his voice came back over the line, gruff and showing no affect to Dean's tears. That was better than Dean had hoped for, he'd imagined Dad's voice to be even more disappointed. His oldest son wasn't only a fuck-up, he was a cry-baby.

"’Cause if you break the deal or break it off with Sam, he leaves you or dies, right?" Dad said it like it was ridiculous, that Dean was insane for thinking that. Dean managed to swallow the lump in his throat and breathe in long enough to whisper without his voice cracking.

"What?" Dad was talking like Dean could fix this, like he had another chance. An undeserved opportunity to prove himself enough that he could bear to look in the mirror again. 

"Well I know a way out. For both of you. If you break off the deal, then no one gets hurt when you break it off with Sam. The threat of you dying will be over, and Sam will understand. And you can stop corrupting him. You just need to get out of your deal." There was a flicker of hope inside of Dean's chest. Maybe he could get a second chance. If he could get out of this, he could truly save Sam. Save Sam from _him_.

"How?" Dean squeezed two fingers at the top of his nose, his eyes tight as he pushed away some of the pressure behind them. He practiced breathing, taking deeper and deeper breaths as his eyes began to dry. He wiped at his cheeks, although didn't bother much with anything else because his clothes were still dotted with tears and he was still sitting on the bathroom floor.

"The demon who holds your contract. He's here. Now."

~*~*~*~

"What are you doing?" Sam looked down at Dean, who was filing through papers like a madman. Dean had been acting strange as hell ever since this morning. When Sam had gotten up, Dean had barely looked at him. He threw himself headfirst into research, giving Sam a brief description of a phone call he had last night, saying Dad called with news that the demon was in town that held his contract. Sam asked if that was all Dad said, and Dean had nearly thrown his coffee on Sam. He'd snapped, _yes, of course it was, what the hell else would we talk about?_. Then he'd ignored Sam for the next few hours until Lanie called him and Sam went to go check on her. Dean didn't even look up or say goodbye when Sam left.

And now that he was back, it was no different except that now Dean was even more passionate about the research he was into. He looked like a wreck, like he hadn't slept a single wink last night. Sam had had this awful nightmare, that included Dean drowning, but he'd slept past it and had actually managed in some hours. He should've made Dean climb into bed with him, even if they were fighting. Dean slept better when Sam was holding him, that was a fact they both knew. But Dean was stubborn regardless, and Sam hadn't asked last night. Tonight wasn't an option though. Dean was going to sleep next to him period.

"I think Dad's right. I think the demon is here. Check it out." Dean stood up from the couch, a few papers in his hand. He stared at them for a moment before handing them to Sam and walking past him. He glanced at Sam once but didn't even brush his shoulder as he walked over to his bag. Sam looked at the headings, the graphs with the blue and red lines and occasional yellow dot. 

"What is this, weather reports?" Sam turned and looked at Dean, his voice quiet and not nearly as intense as Dean was. 

"Omens." Dean looked up from his bag, actually looking at Sam. Although he seemed to catch himself off guard doing that, and he looked back at his bag quickly. "Demonic omens. Electrical storms everywhere we've been for the past two weeks."

"Ahh...I don't remember any lightning storms." Sam looked back down at the paper then back at Dean.

"Well, I don't remember you studying meteorology as a kid either." Even when Dean was pissed (or whatever this new avoid-Sam emotion was) he still made a point to say that he in fact knew everything there was to know about Sam. Especially Sam's childhood. Dean remembered more things from when Sam was growing up than Sam did. At least Dean was facing him now, even if he was barking out the words with a mix between anger and excitement. "But I'm telling you, that bastard's been tailing me...wearing some poor dude's meat."

"And it's following you because..." Dean went back to avoiding Sam's eyes, even though they always looked at each other in conversations. Especially when they were talking a case. And double especially when they were talking about Dean's deal. Sam was missing some serious factor of what was going on if Dean was avoiding Sam this much. This wasn't even normal pissed. It was just fucking awful.

"I guess I'm big game, you know." Dean smiled to himself, still not looking over at Sam. The smile was cloying and the comment following it was just as insincere, another one of Dean's stupid games of using humour to hide how scared he was. "My ass is too sweet to let outta sight."

Well, Sam couldn't disagree with that. He tilted his head with a yeah, you got a point gesture. Dean didn't see it, even though Sam had totally just agreed that Dean's ass was sweet. If Dean hadn't been constantly _ignoring_ Sam. Not that Sam wanted Dean to know Sam had a fascination with his ass, but. Still, Sam was over here making it undoubtably obvious and Dean wasn't noticing. So Sam sighed, going back to the topic of the demon tailing Dean. Which made no sense really.

"Okay. Sure." Sam wasn't really saying it to disagree with Dean, just that it wasn't enough. If some high-roller demon who was planning on scooping up Dean's deal had nothing better to do than follow them around a month before Dean was going to hell, then there must be a pretty stagnant number of people going to hell these days.

Dean snatched the papers out of Sam's hands and stalked back to his bag, throwing a comment over his shoulder angrily. Again.

"Don't get too excited, Sammy. Might pull something."

"Dean, look, I wanna believe this man, I really do..." Sam started out gentle, trying to figure out why Dean was strung so tight, but Dean just interrupted him, throwing up his hands.

"Then believe it!" Sam fell silent, looking at Dean sadly. Why wouldn't he tell Sam why he was so pissed? "If we get this sucker, it's Miller Time." 

Dean finally walked up to Sam, standing a little ways off, but at least looking at him straight on for the first time today. And it was already like 2 in the afternoon. Sam felt his voice raise a bit louder, now that Dean wasn't ignoring him.

"Yeah, that's another thing. Dad rattles off an exorcism that can kill a demon? I mean not just send it back to hell, but kill it?" Dean was on the move again, having held still for approximately three sentences. He brushed past Sam, careful to avoid touching his shoulder or getting too close. Like Sam was dangerous. 

Then Dean went off on his rant, talking about how the exorcism was sure to work, there was no evidence it didn't. Which was the lamest excuse for anything ever. And then he went on to say that he was so sure it was Dad on the phone, how there was nothing wrong about this whole thing. Sam didn't know what it was that was messing with Dean so much it messed up his judgement on when something was _this off_ , but Sam didn't know anything about Dean anymore it felt like. After Dean snapped about the civvies and ghosts, they just stared at each other for some time.

Sam finally sighed and Dean dropped his head in frustration.

"Dad tell you where to find the demon?" Sam was trying to be reasonable again, not let emotion get into it. Apparently Dean didn't care about any of that, because he shouted back his answer.

"I'm waiting on the call!" Dean threw his hand up that had the phone in it dramatically. Dean's theatrics were tiring and dangerous to both of them, but Sam just sighed again.

"I told Lanie I'd stop by." Sam turned around, walking a few steps towards the door and missing the sudden flash across Dean's face. He heard Dean's sarcasm though.

"Oh, good yeah. No you go hang out with jail bait. Just, uh, watch out for Chris Hansen." Was that jealousy in Dean's voice? Sam turned around and threw his hands up in exasperation at the ridiculous accusation. Dean was wearing this smirk, a bitchy smile that gave just the tiniest glimpse at how fucked up he really was right now. Something was majorly wrong, but Sam couldn't help fix it unless Dean told him what. "Meanwhile I'll be here getting ready to, you know, save my life."

Sam didn't have to put up with this. He'd done everything in his power over the last eleven months to help Dean, and all he got in return was silence and getting yelled at. He turned away from Dean and kept moving toward the door.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Dean shouted at Sam's back, his voice getting louder as he took a few steps forward. Sam stilled and listened, keeping turned away from Dean. "I mean for months we've been trying to break this demon deal. Now Dad's about to give us the freaking address and you can't accept it? The man is dead and you're still butting heads with the guy!"

Sam spun around and stalked back to Dean, stopping far enough away that he could think without interference.

"That is not what this is about."

"So what is it!?" Dean shouted, his voice echoing in the small motel room. Sam couldn't let Dad come in and ruin Dean's view on everything again, couldn't let Dean fall for whatever Dad was saying just because it was Dad. Dad wasn't here, Dad didn't _know_ everything Dean had been through, didn't know how much he deserved to break this deal for him, not for Sam or for Dad or anyone else.

"The fact is we've got no hard proof here, Dean. After everything, everything we've been through together, you're still just going on blind faith of the man!" Sam was shouting back, and Dean actually shied away a little bit. His voice was still loud though, and Sam saw his resolve break on the last few words. Dean snapped, just like this morning, losing all of his rationality and just blindly shouting. 

"Yeah, well maybe! You know, maybe that's all I got, okay?" Dean spread his arms out in a defiant stance. Sam couldn't take this, take Dean thinking so little of himself. Not anymore.

"No, it's not, Dean. You have me! Okay? Why don't you _get_ that?" Sam reached out and grabbed onto Dean's arm, but Dean just moved it away.

"Sam. Stop." He cast his eyes down, stepping back from Sam. Sam couldn't take no anymore, he couldn't just let Dean walk away from this. Sam had been giving in for way too long, and he was done.

"No, I'm not going to. Ever. Dean, you mean more to me than just-"

"Sam! I can't. We can't talk about this. Please." Dean was pleading, stepping forward into Sam's space again, his hands making gentle fists in Sam's jacket. There was moisture gathering in his eyes, and his bottom lip was trapped underneath his teeth, biting down to keep it from trembling. Sam honestly felt horrible seeing Dean like this, begging and broken. But Sam just covered his hands over Dean's, holding them to his chest gently.

"Dean, it's not going to go away. What are you so afraid of?" Sam's heart was racing underneath Dean's knuckles, and Sam was sure Dean could feel it. Dean didn't met his eyes though, not when he opened his mouth. He cut his eyes down to the side, his words soft but strong. 

"We're _brothers_ , Sam." Dean let go of Sam's jacket and took a step backwards, still not looking him in the eyes. His hands fell to his sides, and he began to turn away, but Sam grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back around to face Sam. Dean's body obliged but he still kept his eyes down. Sam went on anyways. 

"Just because we were born with the same blood we're forced to be with other people? Just because we share parents I'm not _allowed to be in lo-"_

"Dad knows." Dean's sharp voice cut into Sam's rant, cut into the word the both knew was a long time coming. And was now gone. Sam didn't even try to finish the sentence, just dropped his jaw and stared at Dean, who was carefully studying his boots. Sam finally closed his mouth, swallowing. 

"What?" Sam's voice was quiet, like he was hoping Dean would take it back, say something else. Dean didn't, he just looked up at Sam for a brief moment before speaking.

"Dad knows." Dean turned on his heel, finally putting his back to Sam and taking a few steps away. Sam didn't stop him this time. "He knows about us, and he was _disgusted_ , Sam."

Dean turned back to look over his shoulder at that, the pain in his face emphasizing the word so much more. "He said that...that this is a sin and I'm being so god damned selfish, Sam, I can't do this anymore. I have to break this deal, so you don't feel forced and confused anymore and I just, I can't ruin you like this. I can't take everything away from you just because...because-"

Dean threaded his hand through his hair, looking down and having to make an effort to suck in air, like his lungs weren't working properly or something. Sam waited for a moment, but then he couldn't take the suspense. He'd been silent, deadly silent, just listening to the words sink in.

"Because what? Dean, what?" Sam took a step closer to Dean and Dean took a step back, talking to the wall.

"Just cause." Sam threw his hands in his hair and huffed out a breath of frustration. Then he was leaning forward, pointing at his chest and yelling again.

"You really think breaking the deal is going to make this all vanish into thin air like it never happened? You're not ruining me Dean, this is my choice!" Dean lifted his head at that, his eyes steely and his jaw clenching the way it did when he was extremely angry.

"No, Sam, it's not! You have no idea what you're talking about okay? Just, go." Dean waved his hand in the air, motioning at Sam that he didn't want him here anymore. "Go check on the girl."

Of all the times for people to be dying. If Sam wasn't extremely sure Lanie was in danger, he'd just say screw it and stay. But something told him there was something extremely evil here, and clearly Dean wasn't going to help stop it. And clearly he wasn't going to tell Sam anything either. Dean's eyes cast down for like the bazillionth time, except this time he squinched up his nose, like he was trying not to cry.

"We're talking about this as soon as I'm back, okay? Dean? I promise. Please. Just please don't go anywhere until I get back. Okay, Dean? Please."

Dean shifted his weight and all the light in his eyes was gone, replaced with dull, gray disappointment. He didn't answer Sam's pleas, didn't even nod. Just looked at Sam. Sam shook his head in exasperation and turned towards the door. He needed fresh air right now anyways, they both did. Although at least Sam finally had an idea of why Dean had been avoiding him all day today. Because Dad had told him too. Sam wasn't sure how he was supposed to fix that, because Dad overruled most of the arguments with Sam. But he'd find a way. He had to, or else he might lose Dean. 

~*~*~*~*~

Dean was holding a facecloth to his cut eye (and groaning because ow) when Sam appeared in the reflection of the bathroom door. The first thing Dean saw was all the bruising and the scratches over Sam's features.

"I see they improved your face." It was Dean's way of asking Sam if he was okay without having to ask. He wasn't sure he could do sappy right now. Sam's mouth twisted up in a little grin.

"Right back at ya," he snickered. Dean looked in the mirror and nodded vaguely, making a _hmph_ sound. Yeah, the last time they'd talked they'd both been screaming at each other, but almost dying, getting your ass kicked, and seeing blood and bruises on your brother's face temporarily puts things into perspective.

Dean turned around and slid past Sam, there being enough room in the doorway without making it obvious whether or not he was avoiding touching him. Because Dean didn't know if he was. Or wasn't.

"So, crocotta, huh?" And if Sammy was back, a dead crocotta.

"Yep."

"That would explain the flies." Dean plopped down on one bed, and Sam sat on the edge of the other, the space between the beds thankfully not more than two feet wide.

"Yeah it would. Hey, um...look I'm sorry it wasn't Dad." Dean wasn't sorry. Well, a little. But honestly he'd rather it not have been Dad. Dean still shuddered thinking back on the feeling that he'd fucked things up so horribly, that he'd even been the reason Dad kicked Sam out with the Stanford letter sitting on the motel table. Dean couldn't pretend it never happened though, because he knew that was probably exactly what John might say. Besides, even if it wasn't, it had been quite eye-opening. And eye-watering. 

"Nah, I gave you a hell of a time on this one," Dean said with a huff, looking down at his hands instead of Sam and his forgiving tone and hazel puppy eyes. It was true, Dean had totally blown up on Sam. Enough to the point where he'd almost said something really stupid. It wasn't fair to take out the brute of Dad's wrath on Sam, Sam had done nothing but try to help Dean. Even if Dean didn't want to see it that way. 

Sam just made a noise of acknowledgement, and Dean thought back, to everything that really _had_ happened. Dean hadn't told Sam much, but definitely enough to start drawing conclusions that would be fairly close to accurate. And he'd yelled, goodness he'd yelled. Sam hadn't lost his temper until the near end, but Dean had been losing his temper with Sam all day. It had just been so hard, to look at how perfect and beautiful Sam was and to think about how he'd messed so much of that up. For stupid, selfish reasons like getting his last wish before he spent eternity in hellfire.

"You were right," Dean admitted softly.

"Forget about it." Sam's answer back was honest and fast, actually giving Dean an out. The option to take the "forget about it" to not only apply to Dad, but to the impudent conversation of "why." It was the scariest thing Dean had approached in a long time, no spirit or monster he had met being able to hold a candle to the idea of finally admitting his six years of feelings. 

"I can't." Talking about the deal meant talking about them too, but Dean needed Sam to at least understand the (other) reason why he needed out of this deal. He bit his lip and continued. "I wanted to believe so badly that there was a way outta this. I mean I'm staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell. For real, forever, and I just..."

"Yeah." Dean clenched his teeth together at Sam's forgiveness, the way he understood Dean so easily. Sam was here for Dean, maybe the only person who ever had been. How was that a sin? How was that worthy of eternal damnation?

"I'm scared, Sam. I'm really scared." Dean finally met Sam's eyes, tears threatening to fall over the precipice. Dean was sure that once they started falling, they wouldn't stop, ever. Sam's eyes teared up too, looking at Dean. If it wasn't so depressing, Dean might have thought something about how girly they were being, sitting here and half-crying, just looking at each other. 

"I know." Dean turned back away and pursed his lips, focusing on the pressure and not the water in his eyes.

"I guess I was willing to believe anything. You know, the last act of a desperate man." Dean's voice broke on the last word, a mollified laugh at his own stupidity. Sam's voice lightened a bit, still looking over at Dean.

"There's nothing wrong with having hope, Dean." 

"Hope doesn't get you jack squat. I can't expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute." Sam finally turned his eyes off of Dean, looking forward and matching Dean's expression, except he wasn't tearing up as much. "I can't expect anybody to, you know. I mean the only person that can get me out of this thing is me."

There was a beat of silence, then Sam spoke again, his voice earnest. "And me."

Dean turned his head and met Sam's eyes, Sam nodding softly in confirmation. Dean furrowed his eyebrows a bit.

"And me?" He said, kind of in disbelief. 

"What?" Sam looked genuinely confused as to what he did wrong. Well, not as much wrong as just lame. Really really lame.

"Deep revelation, having a real moment here, that's what you come back with? And me?" Sam raised his eyebrows, probably just as surprised at Dean's word choice as he was. Then he came back with a response that was like half-smartass, half-sincere. 

"Uh...do you want a poem?" Dean turned his head to the side, shaking it a little as he reached for the remote.

"The moment's gone." Dean could see Sam smile slightly from his peripherals, and Dean flicked on the TV. He reached down between the beds, grabbing two bottles of beer in one hand, and tilting one out to Sam. Dean didn't look at him, didn't need to to know where he was and the look that would be written on his face.

Sam's hand brushed Dean's as he grabbed it, taking it gently in his big hands and cracking it open the same time Dean did. Things were peaceful like this, just him and Sam and a couple of beers. But Dean also knew that they hadn't touched on the topic yet, the one that was looming ahead like an inevitable snow storm. A single beer wasn't going to make this conversation any easier, but reminding himself what they were, always would be, was helpful. Two brothers, impossibly close who had each other memorized and would do nearly anything possible to save each other.

There was a bit of silence as they both drank, eyes not really watching whatever was on, but taking the peace as much as they could before it shattered, the chance of never being again. It was finally Sam who brought it up, which wasn't surprising. Dean was about halfway through his beer before Sam was looking at him again, and then his soft voice rang out through the silence of the room, the TV muted and neither of them needing to talk. Until now, apparently.

"Speaking of moments gone." Dean glanced up at Sam and back down at his drink, swirling it around in his hand and watching it move around in the amber glass. "About earlier..."

Dean sighed. He hadn't been expecting Sam to let it go, just kind of hoping a little that he might realize how much Dean didn't want to talk about this. Sam probably did realize, he also probably didn't care. Or well, he cared, but he thought Dean was avoiding it for no reason. When in fact Dean had more reason to avoid this topic than any other topic ever.

"Yeah. I uh...I mean, it wasn't Dad really. What he said though, Sammy? I swear I could just _see_ him saying that." Dean tipped back his beer again, shutting his eyes for a moment against the tidal wave threatening to rise back up through his body and come spilling out his eyes. 

"Dean, what did he say?" Sam's voice was barely above a whisper, but it felt like the words were still 10 decibels too loud. Dean took the bottle off of his lips with a pop and dipped his head, keeping his eyes shut. He could talk about this, maybe, but he wasn't sure if he could repeat the words that left him a sobbing mess on the bathroom floor.

"Sam, I just. I don't think I can." Dean's knuckles were white from clenching the bottle so tightly. He stared down at them, watching how the lack of circulation meant the blood managed not to cloud over the underlying white fascia tissue. Then hands closed over his pointless observation, golden and bruised knuckles covering over Dean's. Dean startled, jumping a little at the unexpected touch. Dean didn't shy away though, didn't back up and run like so many instincts were telling him to.

"Please." Sam squeezed Dean's hands, the bottle wrapped strangely between all four of their palms. Dean looked down at it, at the single drop of alcohol or condensation on the rim. Funny, how a year and half ago he'd come so close to kissing a drunk Sam, and had nearly died because of all the turmoil it caused. Compared to now....ha.

"This isn't," Dean breathed in a shaky breath that got caught in his throat. He closed his eyes, and the beer bottle was being gently tugged from his hands, then the bed next to him compressed as Sam sat down close enough to tip Dean sideways. The tip with his eyes closed made him a bit dizzy, so he opened up his eyes in time to see Sam's arm reach behind him, his fingers spread out like a star on the lower dip of Dean's back. If the hand was supposed to give Dean courage, it might have a little, but it was mostly guilt running through him. He didn't shrug it off though, partly because it was actually helping a bit, and mostly because Dean was still a selfish bastard and he knew this was probably the last time Sam would touch him like this. Once Sam found out the truth...he'd want nothing to do with Dean anymore. And, thinking it over since their fight earlier, Dean had figured telling him and breaking it off was the last good thing he could do for Sam. 

"It's not-" Dean tried again, his voice a little stronger. "It's not a new thing for me, Sam. Dad knew that. Even the real one, when he was alive..."

"Wait, you've felt... _feelings_ for me for more than two years?" Dean didn't look at Sam, just breathed out a confimative sigh and continued on before he lost the nerve.

"I can't pretend anymore that this wasn't selfish. I told himself I was doing it for you, trying to comfort you and make you forget I was dying. But really I was just taking what wasn't mine, because I knew I wouldn't have to deal with the consequences. I _used_ you, Sammy." Dean looked over at Sam's stricken expression, his voice dropping to a whisper and his eyes watering again. "And I'm so sorry for that." 

Sam was quiet, just looking at Dean with his watering eyes. Sam's hand slid across Dean's back, of course he didn't want to touch Dean after he just heard the truth. Or, well, a very vague part of it. But when Sam's hand reached his side, it just slid back to the other hip. Sam was _rubbing_ his back? Why? Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and Sam's other hand came up, touching fingertips lightly at Dean's temple and running down the side of his cheek until Sam's hand was resting fully against the side of Dean's jaw. 

"Fuck, what did Dad _say_ to you?" _To make yourself believe that_ was implied in his tone. Sam looked at Dean like he was a bird with a broken wing that someone had decided to use as a baseball for batting practice. Dean would protest Sam's horrified and concerned look, except that it was exactly what he had felt like crumpled on the cold tile and realizing he was corrupting the one pure thing he had been trying to save. Dean could practically hear some of the thoughts racing through Sam's mind, but none of them were bad enough to compare to what the fake-John had said.

Yes, the words had hurt like hell, cutting open a wound inside of Dean that may never fully heal. But the worst part was they left Dean raw and open for new torture, induced by himself. If Dean was why Dad kicked Sam out, then was Dean the reason why John fought with Sam, too? If Dean had been so wrong with this judgement call, how many others things had he fucked up inside of his little brother? If Dean was leaving Sam after convincing him to feel something he never would have, how messed up would Sam be after he was gone? All of the accusations, the stabbing words, all of the implied they were just the tip of the iceberg. Dean could probably spend half of his eternity in Hell and still make up new questions to branch off of why everything was Dean's fault. 

"Sammy," Dean choked softly, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Sam had already bristled with anger, at Dad and at the crocotta for shredding Dean into shambles, but his shoulders tensed up with an even darker rage. Then Sam was leaning in and Dean managed to be paying enough attention to turn his head to the side. The kiss probably originally intended for the tear on Dean's cheek landed just in front of his ear instead. Dean had never turned away from Sam's kisses before, but he just couldn't right now. Not when everything was so fresh and real in his mind. How was he supposed to just go back to ruining Sam?

Sam pulled back, his eyes slowly searching Dean's as Dean turned his head to face Sam again. Something softened in Sam's face, then he leaned in again. Dean turned his head to the side again, but then Sam arms wrapped around his shoulders, one hand on the back of Dean's head as he held him tightly. It took Dean a moment to understand that Sam wasn't trying to kiss him, then Dean lifted his arms to Sam's back too, turning his head the other direction to bury his nose against Sam's neck. 

Sam held on to Dean and rocked them, gently moving them back and forth in a steady pattern that felt like the exact rhythm of Dean's heart. Maybe it was the rhythm of Sam's too.

Hugging people on the verge of tears was the quickest and most efficient way to ensure a bawling outbreak, which is exactly what ended up happening. Dean's body took to violent shakes, pitiful crying sounds escaping his mouth and a flood of tears spilling all over Sam's neck and shoulder. Sam whispered and coaxed Dean through it, his fingers threading through Dean's hair and stroking up and down the back of his head. He murmured things against Dean's ear that he'd heard from Dean's mouth a thousand times. Dean didn't think he'd ever been on this end of the spectrum, but the useless "it's gonna be okay's" and "let it go's" actually seemed to help. 

Eventually Dean was reduced to just sniffling, and Sam's hands slid to the edges of his shoulders, leaning back slowly and holding Dean upright with his hands. Sam, with lightly tear-stained cheeks, caught Dean's eye and forced Dean to look at him, so he could see Dean's puffy red eyes and still trembling bottom lip. Sam held his gaze in silence for a moment before his honey voice washed over Dean. 

"We'll work it out, okay? Just like we always do." Dean had told that to Sam the last time their positions had been switched, and the words seemed to physically flip everything inside of Dean. He sat, still slightly trembling, in shocked silence just looking at Sam and letting the words sink in.

Then Dean tipped forward and brushed his trembling and wet lips over Sam's. Sam kissed him back lightly and brief before he pulled away. Dean opened his eyes, confused. Sam smiled sadly and stroked Dean's cheek with his fingers again.

"It's okay. You don't have to. It's okay." The tears Dean thought were all gone came welling up in his eyes again. How did Sam know, how did he always know? Dean felt a tug of shame in the pit of his stomach at Sam's words. At how easily Sam saw right through him, even better than Dean did. What did Dean ever do to get so lucky? 

Sam's fingers left his cheek and wrapped around one of Dean's arms instead. Sam pulled at Dean's arm lightly, tugging him to the top of the bed. Dean followed and moved to the side so Sam could pull back the comforter and sheets. Then Sam practically helped Dean into the covers, tugging off Dean's boots with trained hands and leaning over the bed to set them down next to each other on the floor at the foot of the bed, the only thing Dean liked to have organized. Then Sam kicked off his and joined Dean under the sheets, wrapping Dean in his arms before he was even all the way situated. 

Dean's back pressed against Sam's chest, one of Sam's arms tucked over Dean's stomach and the other across his chest with Sam's palm resting over his tattoo. Sam curved his legs up so that Dean's ass spooned up against Sam's hips, Sam's knees pressed against the backs of Dean's. 

He let himself do a quick mental check of everything he'd told Sam. And everything Sam had told him. _Just because we were born with the same blood we're forced to be with other people? Just because we share parents I'm not allowed to be in lo-_ Dean hadn't let him finish that sentence, mainly because he couldn't hear Sam say it, not when Sam was emotionally charged enough that it could fall out of his mouth and he wouldn't mean it. Sam was a lawyer for godssake, he knew how to pull out any stop he needed to win, truthful or not. Even if Sam was convinced it was true and they were at a place where Dean would believe Sam and any of this mattered, Dean didn't want to hear it like that, at the end of some screaming rant. 

Dean hadn't told Sam much either, just that he felt something for him. For some time now. Even though Sam had probably already guessed at that. It'd take a blind person not to see it. Although Sam had seemed surprised, so maybe he had been blind to it. Dean wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, he couldn't figure that out tonight. He might as well try to get some sleep, Sam was ridiculously comfortable after all.

Dean focused in on the warmth and his breathing, blocking his mind to any other thoughts besides the rhythmic inhales and exhales. Sam's breathing was in perfect sync with Dean's, which made it quite easy to focus on nothing but that. He was lulled into sleep in minutes, some of the worry lines on his face smoothing out as Sam cradled him into dreams that didn't leave him screaming for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever, part 1 of school musical auditions were this week. Part 2 is next week (ugh) so the next couple chapters make take a while too. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience, and as always, thank you for reading! xx


	59. Malinger (Time Is On My Side - 03x15)

"Come on. We're going after Bela." The second Dean hung up the phone he was grabbing his jacket, but Sam was still standing there like he had forgotten how to understand English. 

"What? Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a second." Sam was still just looking at Dean instead of packing and they had a ways to drive, so it was seriously go-time right now and Sam was not going. 

"Come on. Get your stuff. The clock's ticking." 

"Look, I think we should stay here and finish the case." Dean was in the middle of shrugging into his jacket and he looked over his shoulder at Sam, laughing disbelievingly at Sam. Who had a very serious expression on his face. He actually wanted to stay and finish the case.

"You insane?" Maybe the morgue fumes had eventually gotten to him. Maybe he'd gotten negative amounts of sleep and was going delirious. Maybe he was just going delirious because they had three weeks left. 

"Dean, there's no way she still has the Colt! That was months ago! She probably sold it the second she got it." Dean shrugged the rest of the way into his jacket, as Sam talked with his hands out in the way he did when he was trying to logic his way into Dean's head. Sam had a point though, and that was a major bummer, but she still needed to die. So.

"Well, then I'll kill her. Win-win." Dean went back to packing his bag, because apparently unlike Sam, he could multitask. 

"Dean..." Sam protested, in that one tone of voice that he used when he was pulling out all the stops, his honey voice that had melted Dean when Sam was a kid, and was annoyingly hard to ignore even now. So Dean came back with the only way to malinger the hazel puppy eyes Sam was throwing at him.

"Sam. We're going!" Dean snapped, a little on the rude side, before he started throwing things in a semi-organized fashion in his bag. Which Sam said wasn't a thing, he said something was either organized or it wasn't. So his bag may not be organized to _Sam,_ but Dean knew where everything was. So it was organized to him, therefore semi-organized. There was a beat or two of silence, then Sam finally spoke, his tone like he was offended by the very suggestion of leaving.

"No!" There wasn't even a full second of silence before Dean snapped up his head and retorted back, fairly irked now. 

"Why the hell not?" Sam hadn't just outright disagreed with Dean for at least a week, which had been a fairly awesome week. Except now he was deciding to disagree again, and for something stupid like a non-zombie zombie case.

"Dean, this, this here. Now. This is what's gonna save you." Okay, now he was talking jibberish. The options were case vs Bela, Dean wasn't really sure why they were still in the room arguing. Or why they were arguing at all. When Dean only had 20 days left, he didn't exactly want to spend them getting yelled at and yelling at Sam. And Dean thought Sam didn't either, there were much better things they could do with their time than fight. Like hunt, or get Dean out of his deal, or have movie nights, or cuddle on the couch. (which is entirely absolutely not a thought that ever crossed Dean Winchester's mind he was not a girl and he did not think of frilly things like cuddling, even if he was dying.)

"What? Chasing some Frankenstein?" Yeah, something was seriously whacked in Sam's head if he thought that just a hunt was a cure-all. Then his voice got all wispy, quieter and sensible and a lot more like the Sammy Dean knew. 

"Chasing immortality." Dean stared, furrowing his eyebrows and pulling his head back in surprise. Sam's words startled him, because honestly what the hell. Then Sam went on to explain, his voice actually excited as he explained to Dean the whole immortality-will-save-you-from-hell speech. As Sam kept talking, the words sunk in and it suddenly dawned on Dean. He closed some of the space between him and Sam, walking up so he was only half a foot away. 

"Wait, wait, wait. Wait a second. Did you know that this was Doc Benton from the jump?" Up close, Dean could feel the energy between their bodies intensify, as Sam looked down at him and Dean waited expectantly for an answer. Dean never really spent enough time looking at Sam, memorizing his features. There was a part of Dean that wanted to just lay down with Sam and trace over every inch of his face, learn in so well there was no way he could forget it in hell. That was one of Dean's worst fears, that he would have to spend eternity without the image of Sam engraved in his brain. Dean hadn't forgot Sam's face, or his voice or his hair or his laugh or his smile the entire time Sam had been at Stanford. But that had only been two years without actually talking to Sam, and "eternity" was a lot longer than two years. 

"No," Sam responded, his eyes darting to the side and back. Even if Sam had kept a stonecold poker face, Dean would have been able to know if he was lying. And that was absolutely a lie. Dean just tilted his head, silently asking Sam the question of _really, you think so?_ Sam sighed lightly and spoke again, as unsurprised as Dean that Dean could read him so easily. "Look, I was hoping."

Which meant that Sam had played Dean, he'd kept this from him. They were 20 days out and Sam had gone back to the lying game. The stupid game that had been causing roadblocks in between them, had ripped at everything good they had, because every lie just erased more and more trust. 

"So the whole zombie thing, it was lying to me?" Dean might have said that a little too angrily for the situation, but he couldn't stand by and just watch everything that had crumble to pieces again when there wasn't enough time left to fix it. 

"I didn't wanna say anything until I was sure, Dean." Sam reached out and placed his palm flat over Dean's tattoo, over his heart. Dean didn't respond, didn't let Sam pull him in with the pleading hazel eyes. He was still in logic-mode, in Stanfard-lawyer mode. And he somehow thought that he could get away with it if he was all cute and touched Dean's chest. "All I'm trying to do is find an answer here."

"No." Dean looked down and away from the puppy eyes, from the sense that Sam's argument was making. Dean had to focus on the major downsides Sam would overlook. And the details that would guilt-trip Sam from lying and make his see how ridiculous he sounded. He swore, every argument with Sam turned into a battlefield with strategy and avoidances and placing your archers right. It was ridiculous. "What you're trying to do is chase Slicy McHackey here. And to kill him? No. You wanna buy him a freaking beer. You wanna study him."

"I was just trying to help." Sam sounded offended, like he actually wasn't seeing Dean's point at all.

"You're not helping!" Dean reached up and placed his hand over the one Sam held on his heart. It may have been a sweet gesture if it weren't for the fact that they were fighting and it was more intended to trap Sam's hand and get him to listen, to hold him in place. Or at least that's what Dean told himself. "You forget that if I welch on this deal, you die. Guess what, living forever is welching."

"Fine!" Sam shouted, snatching his hand back by sliding it quickly out from under Dean's. Then it was up in the air, talking like an Italian even though Dean was pretty sure they didn't have any Italian in them. "Then, whatever the magic pill is, I'll take it too!"

"Oh, what is this? Sid and Nancy?" Dean turned away, not listening to Sam's crap about his coupley idea of living together in immortality. Even though technically Dean had just made it much more coupley, with his reference to the Sex Pistols. That's seriously what this was turning out to sound like though, Sid overdosing on drugs and Nancy follow close behind, just because they were dating. Dean hadn't intended to imply they were dating, because they weren't. Oh god, dating his brother. Like that would ever happen in a million years. "No. It's just like Bobby's been saying. We kill the demon who owns the contract and this whole damn thing wipes clean. That's our best shot."

"Even if you had the Colt, Dean, who are you gonna shoot? We have no idea who holds the ticket." Dean zipped up his bag, although Sam was going to have to speed-pack because he was seriously still taking forever and he hadn't even _started_ packing and they were going to leave soon because there was no way Dean was popping some pill and letting Sam take it to, let them both cheat their way out of this. Dean just couldn't let that happen. 

"Well, I'll shoot the hellhounds then before they slash me up. Now, you coming or not?" Dean said it sharply, but it wasn't a question. It was more of a _hurry the fuck up and back your damn bag we have to go_ than an actual question. Although Sam looked at him steadily and gave him an actual answer.

"I'm staying here," he quietly responded, all of the wrath from earlier drained because he knew this would hurt more. Normal, okay, reasonable Sam who wanted to stay. Dean couldn't help it if his face softened with worry, if he took a few steps closer to Sam again.

"No, you're not." Dean stopped a few inches away, trying to keep as calm as possible even though a thousand things were running thorough his head, a thousand different scenarios that ended with Sam bloody and Dean a state away. "'Cause I'm not gonna let you wander out in the woods alone to track some organ stealing freak."

"You're not gonna let me?" Sam mocked. Dean didn't even care if Sam was going to get pissed about the whole overcontrolling big brother thing right now, because Dean was freaking out a ton on the inside and the only way that leaked out was through anger at Sam's stupidity.

"No, I'm not gonna let you." Dean bossed Sam around, sure, but he wasn't the jealous-girlfriend type who spurted out "I'm not gonna let you." But this was life and death here and it was Dean's responsibility to take care of Sammy, so he'd pull out any stop he had to. 

"How are you gonna stop me?" Dean blinked wide-eyed for a moment before he furrowed his eyebrows, stunned. Sam had just openly defied him, and the worst part was that he had a very valid point. There were lots of ways Dean could stop Sam if Dean stayed too, but Dean had to go at least make a justifiable attempt to save his ass. He could tie up Sam, but he'd get out eventually and it would take a lot of bruises and injuries on both their parts for Dean to get Sam tied down to a bed. For the first time since he could remember, Dean felt powerless and insignificant in Sam's life. The only thing that was keeping Dean from accepting that thought was knowing that he actually could stop Sam if he had the time, or if he stayed. If Dean didn't go, there were a million and one things he could do to stop Sam. And one of them did include Sam lying on a bed and their mouths attached. That was sure to stop Sam from running off into the woods on his stupid suicidal I-can-save-Dean Mission. Sam looked down at his feet, trying to calm Dean subtly by giving him back the control. 

"Look, man, we're trying to do the same thing here." Dean looked away and nodded. He knew Sam wasn't trying to piss him off, or make him feel worthless, but he kind of partially succeeded in both anyways. Dean swallowed and looked up at Sam, looked up at the hopeful expression on his face. As much as Dean hated to even think about separating from Sam, especially when they only had twenty days left, he had to do everything he could to try to buy more time at his brother's side.

"I know." Dean's eyes flitted across Sam's body once, then he walked back to his bag, dipping his head down as he checked all the zippers to be closed. Then he looked back at Sam, both of their eyes mirroring in the same hope that the other would stay by their side. That they wouldn't have to separate, that they wouldn't chose to be apart just when it mattered. Dean almost didn't want to say it, and he could practically feel Sam deflate when he did. "But I'm going. So if you wanna stay...stay."

Dean looked over at Sam, watched as Sam stuck his tongue in his cheek in annoyance. Sam stared at the wall, pissed and upset and tense in those shoulders that needed a massage. Sam stared at the wall, didn't so much as look at Dean. Dean was on a time limit, and he had to get this over with before he lost the nerve and their last real hope at ending this thing. So he shrugged, at least he tried, he couldn't help it if Sammy was so goddamned stubborn and refused to listen to everything Dean said. He nodded a sad confirmation to himself, Sam was too pissed to talk to him, and then hoisted his bag up on his shoulder. Dean skirted past Sam and walked over towards the room's door. Sam didn't move, even as Dean passed by his shoulder, close enough for both of them to feel the warmth of each other. 

When Dean reached the door and opened it, the hallway outside looked depressingly empty. And cold, with no familiar warmth tagging along behind Dean's shoulder. He hesitated, looking at the steps he'd have to take alone, and turned around back to Sam. Dean had to go, he knew, but Sam could also die today and Dean would never forgive himself if he left without Sam knowing how much Dean cared.

"Sammy, be careful." Sam finally turned around, meeting Dean's eyes before looking away in pain. Dean knew this couldn't be easy, watching him standing in front of an open door with a bag over his shoulder. It was killing Dean that Sam wasn't coming, it had to be killing Sam that Dean was going. 

"You too," he said quietly. Their eyes locked, and Dean just looked at Sam, saw all the defiance and sadness in his eyes as they both tried to do what they thought would save Dean. What they thought would keep them together. 

Finally Dean broke out of the spell, reaching his hand out for the door to close it behind him. Then he was suddenly taking long strides to cross the room, his bag swinging from his side to across his lower back as he reached Sam. Dean's hand came up in the same swift momentum he'd used to get here in three seconds, cupping Sam's face and bringing it down to Dean's. 

Their mouths met with a passionate force, a controlled crash that was all lips on lips and warmth breath escaping from Sam's mouth to Dean's. Dean's head was tilted to the right, both of his hands cupping Sam's face now as he kissed him deep and slowly. Dean may be in a rush to get out the door, just to get back to Sam as soon as possible, but he couldn't rush this, couldn't speed his way through the kiss with the fuel of their argument. It was a goodbye kiss, but one that promised return.

Sam's hands clutched at Dean's sides and he kissed Dean back from the second their lips touched. It was like Sam had been wishing they could say goodbye like this and had been afraid he'd spook off Dean if he grabbed him. 

It was totally understandable, since Dean had taken a while to get over the haunting words in his brain, echoed like everything else painful, in the voice of his father. Words like destroy and ruin flitted up into Dean's mind occasionally, and he'd avoid looking at Sam for as long as possible until his brother noticed and would touch his arm lightly, ask if he was okay. That would break Dean out of his internal self-destructive loop and he'd be okay for a bit. A couple of nights after Dean had been convinced he was evil for ruining Sam - then promised he wasn't evil or ruining - he'd woken up with tears running down his face and a choked sob escaping his throat. 

Sam had instinctively curled his arm in tighter to Dean's stomach at the sound, encompassing him with Sam's bulky warmth. Then Sam had blinked awake, lifting his head and sleepily moving in to kiss the side of Dean's neck when he saw the tears all over Dean's face and the pillow. Dean had his eyes squeezed shut, half to block the image of the nightmare/memory out, and half so he didn't have to see the worry on Sam's face when he saw Dean like this. Then Sam had thankfully not kissed him, just pulled him in tighter whispering it was going to be okay. Sam's hand had lifted off of Dean's stomach, hooking up from under Dean's arm to carefully wipe away the tears on Dean's cheeks. 

It had been the strangest, safest feeling in Dean's life. Sam was wrapped around him, spooning him from behind, leaning up over the side of Dean's neck, and gently brushing the water away from Dean's cheeks. A few fresh tears escaped at the sensation, at all of the care and thought, but Sam just silently brushed those away too. 

The next morning Dean had pecked Sam on the lips over their breakfast at the motel table. Then Sam had spent the rest of breakfast relaying quiet stories on the million and one times Dean had saved Sam. Sam never went into why he was saying them, but Dean figured it had something to do with Sam detecting Dean's guilt about him destroying Sam.

But with barely any time left before Dean might be gone forever, he forced himself to push aside the haunting words of Dean's selfishness and corruption. He was losing Sam soon and he could see the way he was hurting him. Every time Dean turned away from a kiss Sam broke down a little, sinking into himself. Dean would rather be damned and hate himself and let guilt eat him alive before he saw Sam feel rejected like that. So he shoved off the damnation and made himself pretend he'd never had that phone call with John. For Sam's sake, at least. And for Dean's, because he was still dying.

The rest of the week had gotten steadily better, and they were back to joking and happy (well as happy as they could be when Dean still was dying) in no time. Hell, the beginning of this case they'd both been enthusiastic and joyful. Well, Sam for alternative reasons, but still. The only difference now was that Sam was more careful to start anything between them, wanting to give Dean his room if he needed it. At first it made Dean feel like Sam didn't want him as much, but the way Sam kissed him, like right now, it wiped away all of that doubt in an instant. 

Their mouths slot together wetly and Dean curled his toes in his boots, the sparking between them making Dean want to push for more. Instead he finally made himself pull back, regretfully feeling the tug of Sam's lips one last time before they parted with a soft pop. 

Dean opened his eyes and brought his head and hands back, standing up straight and looking at Sam from a few inches away. Sam's face was still pained and sad, but there was a bigger glimmer of hope in them now. Dean brought up one hand and clapped it on Sam's shoulder. It was a very brotherly thing to do, and maybe it should have felt strange after such a non-brotherly act, but they were both brothers and...non-brothers so it worked.

Then Dean gave Sam a sad smile and turned on his heel, walking in a straight line for the hallway and closing the door behind him with a decisive click. Dean paused again, took a deep breath, and started walking away from Sam.

~*~*~*~ 

When Dean saw Sam again, he was strapped to a table with tape peeling back his eyelids. Dean breathed out his name and ripped off the tape first, which thankfully just caused Sam to close his eyes and grimace. Dean ran careful fingers over Sam's face, especially the bone just above his eyelid, feeling for injuries. 

"You okay? Any missing kidneys I should know about?" Sam's mouth quirked up in a smile and he peeked an eye at Dean before closing them both again. Dean's entire body sighed at relief with the smile, with his Sammy okay. Dean took off the leather head restraint first, sliding it off Sam's forehead and running a hand through Sam's hair to fix it. 

Then Dean bent down and closed his mouth over Sam's, kissing him quickly and reassuredly. Sam tilted his head up into the kiss, the restraints on his wrists groaning as Sam tried to lift his arms to touch Dean. Dean grinned a little mischievously as he pulled away. Not that he was picturing how great it would be if they were at a different point in their relationship that might include some less-disgusting leather cuffs. 

Dean got to work on Sam's other straps, pulling them loose carefully and revealing the raw and reddened skin beneath. Dean bristled when he saw the condition of Sam's wrists, his normally gorgeous skin now beatup and bruised. Dean was going to _kill_ that doctor.

Once Sam's hand was free, Sam started on his next wrist cuff, which was probably a good thing because Dean wasn't sure what might happen to the doc if Dean unwrapped another patch of torn skin. Dean pulled at the buckle on Sam's waist, praying there wasn't bruising here too, although the strap was too tight to not to have left something. Dean gritted his teeth in anger and nearly ripped the leather as he pulled it away from Sam.

Then Sam was struggling to sit up and Dean's hands were all over his chest and back, helping him up and pulling him into Dean for a brief hug. Then they were both getting Sam's feet out of the last shackles and Sam was swiveling to put his feet on the ground.

"Hey, hey. You okay?" Dean brought his hands to Sam's face and Sam finally blinked his eyes open, squinting a bit even in the dim lighting. 

"Uh...yeah. My eye hurts but I'll survive." Sam groaned and brought a hand to his forehead like he was just hit with a major killer headache. Dean brought his hand up too, moving Sam's hand out of the way to replace it with his. Sam wasn't warm, but he did seem to relax a bit at Dean's touch. Dean brought him off the table carefully, one hand on Sam's elbow and the other on his shoulder. Sam swatted at him and mumbled something about Dean acting like a girl. Okay, so he was probably okay.

Dean breathed out shakily through his mouth, watching as Sam pushed past the pain and walked to the next room, bending over to drag the doctor's comatose body over to the table. Part of Dean was itching to get over there and help, push Sam aside and tell him to rest for three seconds, dammit, but he couldn't. Dean had to see, even if it was just something this simple, he had to see Sam be okay without him. 

And yeah, it was literally moving a frail old man onto a table when your eyeball had been prodded with a melon scooper, but still. It was something. Sam easily hoisted the man up on the table, grumbling something about Dean not helping, and hence being a girl. Again. Dean just smiled shakily and popped Sam on the shoulder, focusing on keeping his breathing calm so Sam wouldn't know how much he was flipping out.

It was just a simple hunt, and Sam would be blind and missing his beautiful hazel eyes if Dean hadn't shown up. What was Sam supposed to do without him?

What was Sam supposed to do without him?


	60. Lacerating (No Rest for the Wicked - 03x16)

Day 19: On the road

Day 18-14: Track down and (unsuccessfully) interrogate a demon on the coordinates of Lilith

Day 13: Research

Day 12 & 11: On the road and stop at Dean's favourite burger joint for lunch 

Day 10: Get last ingredient for old age tracking spell and cast spell (unsuccessfully)

Day 9: Research and Jack Nichols movie marathon

Day 8: On the road

Day 7: Dean refuses to get out of bed all day and drags Sam in with him, running his fingers over the back of Sam's neck and whispering "Just in case. Just in case we can't stop it, I just need one day with you." Sam stays.

Day 6 & 5: On the road

Day 4: Arrive at Bobby's and start more laptop and book research

Day 3: Sam and Bobby research, Dean tinkers with one of Bobby's junker cars. Sam brings him out lunch and they eat together, stealing a few kisses when Bobby is out of sight.

Day 2: Dean comes down with a wicked headache and Sam reads Bobby's books by Dean's bedside until noon, when Dean declares he needs fresh air. Sam and Dean take a walk down Bobby's road, spending a couple of hours sitting together on a big rock on the edge of the woods. Dean falls asleep on a research book in the evening and dreams about hellhounds chasing him. Hallucinations start. Bobby finds a tracking spell for Lilith. Sam and Dean fight. Sam summons Ruby, who Dean gets in a fight with and traps. Everyone pulls an allnighter with lots of coffee and chocolate (well, chocolate for Dean).

Day 1: 

Sam swiped the cleaning brush through his gun, glaring at it with the inner turmoil he had inside. There were a thousand things in his head _screaming_ at him. In particular right now, Ruby's words. _You deserve hell! I wish I could be there, Dean. I wish I could smell the flesh sizzle off your bones! I WISH I COULD BE THERE TO HEAR YOU SCREAM!!_ Yeah, Ruby didn't like Dean. The problem was, she was the nicest demon out of every demon ever and if _she_ felt that way, that meant that all the other demons in the world were going to want to rip Dean into a million shreds. All of the demons they'd interrogated lately had mentioned something about looking forward to taking a part in lacerating Dean, but it wasn't until Ruby said it that Sam realized the gravity of the words. Dean wouldn't just be living in Hell like everyone else in the pit, he was going to go through the very worst of it offered. Forever. 

Sam clenched his teeth at that thought. All they had to do was stop Lilith. Which Sam could _do_ if Dean let him. Ruby may be a bitch, but she was a helpful bitch at least. And if it meant Sam could save Dean from eternity with demons, Sam would do it. Sam had to do it.

"We're just gonna let Ruby rot down there?" When she knows how to help us? went the unspoken question that Dean absolutely heard. He didn't even look up, just kept cleaning his gun. 

"That's the idea." Things were tense between them right now, thanks to the big fight they had earlier and Sam summoning Ruby. He couldn't figure out why Dean was so pissed at him, they all know Dean would do this too, do worse, it the roles were switched. That's what got them into this mess in the first place. And Sam couldn't stand by and watch Dean die for him. 

"Dean, what if, uh... What if Ruby's right? What if I can take out Lilith?" Dean looked up at him with an angry, doubtful look. Like Sam was being stupid _and_ incompetent. Sam snapped at Dean, not being able to take Dean looking at him like that, not now. They couldn't fight now, not when Sam needed to save his brother. He honestly hadn't even considered what he was supposed to do if he couldn't, he'd been too focused on saving him.

Dean however, just fought back against Sam's every idea, shooting him down and arguing that Ruby was a stupid idea, even though it was absolutely the best one they had. Dean paced over to another table, and Sam followed him with his eyes, raising his voice a little as he watched Dean's back. Then Sam said they just needed to talk about it, and Dean turned around and walked back up to him, stopping close enough that Sam could see all his freckles even in the dim lighting.

"Sam. We are not gonna make the same mistake all over again." Dean's fingers brushed against Sam's wrist, just a physical reminder that he was here, his touch much more delicate than his words.

"You said that but what does it even mean?" Dean said a lot of things in riddles, or at least left enough open for interpretation that Sam would spend hours thinking over the 1000 different things it could have meant. Like the last time they talked about this thing between them, Dean had been super vague and just mentioned the idea that he felt something more for Sam, that he had for a while, then he'd broken down crying and Sam had dropped the topic. And he didn't have the heart to bring it up again, not if it might make Dean cry. Sam would rather live never knowing than put Dean through that misery. So he'd pretended he was satisfied with what minuscule answer he'd gotten out of his brother.

"Don't you see a pattern here? Dad's deal, my deal, now this? I mean every time one of us is – is – is up the creek the other is begging to sell their soul. That's all this is, man. Ruby's just jerking your chain down the road. You know what it's paved with and you know where it's going." Dean's voice cracked near the end, like he was close to tears even now. He turned away, the gun in his hand sudden super important again. Sam sighed, wishing there was some better way for him to get across to his brother. Sam shook his head, this was so damned difficult, and walked around to the other side of the table.

"Dean." Sam sat down next to him, his eyes locked on the swoop of eyelashes making shadows over Dean's cheeks, the plump pout of his lips and curve of his nose. The colour of his hair that spiked over his head. Every little detail he could take in, all the time. Sam had practically made a mental map of everything Dean, had been memorizing as much of his brother as he could over the past few months. His voice, the sound of his laugh, the way he smelled after a shower, coming out of the bathroom dressed and spiked hair still dripping. His eyes glanced down to Dean's hands for a moment, assembling the weapon and so agile, yet strong. Hands that cupped Sam's face, pulled at his jacket, had been stitching him up since before Sam could remember. Hands that may be on fire and bloody at this time tomorrow. 

"What are you afraid is gonna happen? This is me, I can handle it." Dean's hands stopped, and he looked at the floor and shook his head. Dean hated talking about feelings, fine. But when he had less than 24 hours to live it wasn't fair of him not to at least tell Sam what his thought process was on this. Besides, Sam wasn't lying, he would do absolutely anything at this point to save Dean. Absolutely anything.

"And if it'll save you..."

"Why even risk it?" Dean looked up, his eyes so broken and hurt and terrified that Sam couldn't look at him for a moment. His Dean, with that look on his face. It would haunt every single one of Sam's nightmares for all of eternity, so long as Dean wasn't there to sleep beside him. Then he looked back, because Sam could at least be strong enough to pull Dean through some of this pain. Some of his fear. Sam needed to be here.

"Because you're my brother." Dean opened his mouth, like he wanted to say more. Wanted to interject with something like "you're my brother, and you're more than that too." But he didn't. He just let Sam speak. "Because you did the same thing for me."

Dean scoffed lightly, like that was exactly the point.

"I know... and look how that turned out." Dean's words were gentle, submissive like he'd almost already given up. Sam couldn't take that, couldn't take the idea that Dean was so thoroughly blaming himself for everything and was just ready to go, to let the hellhounds rip him up.

"All I'm saying..." Dean stopped, fighting in a breath and his eyes darting, filling with water in the corners. He was getting all choked up, like he couldn't even manage to say it. Whatever he was trying to say. Finally he sucked in the courage, turning his eyes on Sam with an expression that said _I love you_ for the first time Sam had ever seen.

"Sammy, all I'm saying is that you're my weak spot." Sam furrowed his eyebrows, and Dean smiled sadly, confirming what he just said. 

"You are. And I'm yours."

Sam looked at him for a moment, looked at the man he needed so much, and had just called him his kryptonite. But Sam was supposed to save Dean, Dean was the only thing Sam had left in this world, and even when he hadn't been, he'd been just as important. Sam still had needed him just as badly. His own eyes started to tear up and his throat started to close, crying threatening every pore of his body.

"You don't mean that. We're… we're family." It the end all to cure all, because it tied them together in a way that could never be broken, not by anyone or anything. They were linked by the very blood that pumped through their veins and they would never be truly separated from each other because of it.

"I know. And those evil sons of bitches know it too." Sam turned his head away. So maybe how much they cared for each other was a disadvantage, fine. So what if a couple of demons knew they couldn't live without each other. So what? "I mean, what we'll do for each other, you know, how far we'll go? They're using it against us."

"So what?" Sam snapped his gaze back to Dean. "We just stop looking out for each other?"

Even if Dean asked that of him, even if Dean said yes, got down on his knees and begged, Sam could never. Never in a million years. So long as Sam's heart was beating, he'd never stop looking out for Dean, he'd never stop caring for and about his brother more than anything else in the entire world.

"No, we stop being martyrs, man. We – we – we stop spreading it for these demons." Dean picked up Ruby's knife, holding it up for emphasis. "We take this knife, and we go after Lilith our way. The way Dad taught us to. And if we go down, then, uh... then we go down swinging."

 _We_. We go down swinging, and we go down together. Sam looked at his brother, really looked at him. Sam needed him more than anything, and he'd never been more sure than in this moment about how he felt for Dean. There was honestly nothing Sam wouldn't do, if Dean was there beside him. If this was what would save his brother, Sam would do it. Sam said he would do anything, and that didn't just include the plans from a demon's mouth. Besides, Sam valued Dean's mouth much more than anyone else's.

"What do you think?" I think I love you. Sam looked down at the floor for a moment, keeping his mouth shut before he said it. Then he looked back up at Dean, at the hopeful and unguarded expression, so fully _Dean_ it hurt.

"I think you totally should have been jamming "Eye of the Tiger" right there." Dean stood up and made a face, just as Sam huffed out a breath that could have been a laugh under different circumstances. No matter what, no matter how sticky and complicated and upsetting their relationship was, they always had this to fall back on. No matter what happened down the road, they were always brothers in the end. Sam was always that same little kid, getting his too-long hair ruffled by the hand of his big brother, teasing smiles on both of their faces. That would never ever go away.

"Oh, bite me. I totally rehearsed that speech, too." Sam smiled. Even in the face of death Dean was adorable. And still not funny. Sam took a deep breath, maybe he'd been holding it and hadn't quite realized. He could breathe again now though, which was definitely good. This may not be easy, all of this may suck more than everything ever, but at least they'd do it together. It'd always be that way. Thick, thin, hell, and demons, they'd make it if they were together.

 

5 Minutes:

"What do you need me to do?" Sam practically shouted it at Ruby, then Dean's hands were on him from behind, trying to turn him to face Dean. Sam's head was spinning with Dean's hands all over him, with the few minutes left on the clock. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean was using his body to pull Sam towards him, try to get Sam to look at him, but Sam wasn't going to be distracted that easily, Sam had only 5 minutes left to save Dean and he could _do_ it if Dean would just let go. Sam threw an elbow up and wrenched himself out of Dean's grasp. 

"Just shut up for a second." Sam turned to Ruby, totally ignoring the offended and pissed and scared vibes flowing off of Dean and through Sam's body. Each minute that clock ticked off, Sam could feel Dean more and more. It was like the closer they got to midnight, the closer the bond between them grew, and it was at the point right now that Sam could literally _feel_ every emotion rolling off of Dean. He didn't need to turn around to see the look on Dean's face, he could feel it.

Sam turned to Ruby, shouting her name again because they were running out of time and he couldn't. He didn't. Just, he'd do anything.

"You had your chance. You can't just flip a switch. We needed time." She looked offended but Sam didn't care, there was never no more options, it was never just over. Never.

"Well, there's gotta be something. There's gotta be some way, whatever it is, I'll do it." Suddenly Dean's hands were on him again, grabbing Sam's waist and his arm and spinning him into Dean, pulling him away from Ruby and holding him roughly, prepared this time for when Sam tried to wrench away. Dean spun him around easily, forcing Sam into facing him, holding him there with a tight grip on his wrist. 

"Don't, Dean! I'm not gonna let you go to hell, Dean!" As soon as Sam was fully turned around, Dean threw Sam's wrist back at him and shouted, his voice rough and demanding.

"Yes, you are!" Sam stared. Dean had never before...Dean had never said that, he didn't mean it. He couldn't ask that of Sam, he couldn't do that to him. With their heightened sense of each other, Dean saw and felt and heard everything Sam was thinking, and so he responded.

"Yes, you are." His voice was calmer, controlled. And this time when he said it it hurt even more, because this time it felt like it was real. Sam couldn't do anything but just stare, just let his lungs pump oxygen through his veins as he stared.

"I'm sorry. I mean this is all my fault, I know that. But what you're doing, it's not gonna save me. It's only gonna kill you." Sam glanced away, aware that his eyes were building up with tears. It made everything blurry to see, everything except Dean. Dean, who was crystal clear even through the film of water against his eyes. 

"Then, what am I supposed to do?" Sam had no purpose anymore, nothing to do after Dean was gone. Dean was his life, and that would die tonight if Dean did. Dean blinked and swallowed, knowing exactly how Sam felt. Knowing Sam needed a list, a string of purpose for Dean to give him, and it would have purpose too, whatever Dean said. Just because Dean said it. They both knew that. 

"Keep fighting. Take care of my wheels. Sam, remember what Dad taught you... okay?" Sam nodded, just like he had a million times to Dean. Dean used to give him lists like this sometimes, dropping Sammy off at school. "Do your homework, and let me know if you get in any sort of trouble, okay?" Sam would nod, just nod at Dean. When he was really little, back in elementary school, then would come the customary kiss on Dean's cheek before he ran off inside, knowing Dean was watching every second of Sam's retreat until he was safe. So Sam just nodded.

"...And remember what I taught you." Sam had to bite his lip then, he nearly lost it. He'd been afraid Dean might not say it, that Dean might not see it. That Dean might not know exactly how much he meant to Sam.

Dean's eyes had tears in them now too, he was about to cry now too. He smiled, a smile that had more pain in it than anything Sam had ever seen.

Then there was the chime. 

The smile was gone and Dean's eyes shot over to the grandfather clock. Sam turned his head too, not being able to believe it until he saw the double hands, pointing straight upwards like they were sneering, when in fact everything tonight was pointing down. Down, into hell, into death, forever. Dean's eyes cut back to Sam's the same time Sam went to look at him, and their eyes locked with an electric shock. 

Tears were spilling down Sam's cheeks now, he didn't even bother trying to stop the ugly wet tears rolling across his skin. Dean smiled one last time, sad and upside down and pain and everything Dean never deserved.

Then Dean was there, there in front of Sam, one hand wrapped tightly around the back of his neck, gripping Sam like he never wanted to let go, like holding Sam here was the only thing keeping him left on this earth. Dean tilted his chin up, bringing his lips to Sam's, tasting like Dean and tears and pain and forever.

Dean kissed him.

Dean kissed him and it was goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now the Prequel is over, and you may proceed to Angel Chronicles! This is Part 2 of the Stumbling On the Road So Far series. There is a little arrow down vvv there if you keep scrolling. It picks up just where this ended, although the tone is a little different at first, just like the show is. Take in consideration as you read that there is a four month gap (and a forty year gap) in between the end of this chapter and the beginning of Undaunted.
> 
> Time is the greatest distance between two places.
> 
>  
> 
> The last few lines of Prequel are inspired by Fumbling in the Dark, the link to which is in the Prequel's description. I loved her chapter for this and wanted to honor that at the end.
> 
> Thank you sooo much for reading, and I sincerely hope you enjoy. As always, the Stumbling On the Road So Far tumblr is 
> 
> flybynightgirl.tumblr.com 
> 
> if you would like to follow it. 
> 
> Stay patient with the bit of Destiel in Angel Chronicles, I just made a point to stay as honest to what the show portrayed as possible. (You will not be disappointed with Sam and Dean's relationship though - I promise.) 
> 
> Thank you again for all of the time you have devoted to my fic. I love every one of you. xx


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